Empire's End
by khaki knight
Summary: In the aftermath of the Creator Incident, a mad officer schemes to regain the Federation’s lost hegemony through military force. As the stakes escalate, can anyone prevent the Federation from repeating the mistakes of the past? fayt x maria
1. Prologue: A State of the Union

_**Empire's End**_

_An exercise in **Star Ocean: TTEOT** free advertising as brought to you by khaki knight._

_Disclaimer: **Star Ocean **and related ideas, characters, etc. are the legal property of Square-Enix/tri-Ace. Characters, etc. are only borrowed for what I hope will be entertainment purposes. Also, I'm really not making any money off this – honest! This disclaimer applies to the entire work. Insert more legal jargon here if it will keep me from facing a lawsuit. For great justice._

**OOO **

"...declaring this so-called 'Creator' the leader of a terrorist cell of unknown origins, known only by their self-titled name "The Executioners." Federation officials have confirmed at this hour that the rash of brutal attacks by the 'Executioners' across the Milky Way were both achieved by the use of an OPA from an undeveloped planet. Officials are still refusing to comment which system this all originated from, beyond saying that the area has been secured by several battle and combat explorer class ships. Speculation has centered on the restricted planet Styx, which is known to be near the area where the Federation's flagship—the_ Aquaelie_—was lost, but we are unable to corroborate any hard facts.

We _also _have confirmation at this hour by Federation officials that the rumors of dozens of planets, calling themselves the Neutral Powers, officially breaking away from the Federation are true. As has been reported for the past few days, talks have been continuing late every night for the past week at the temporary congressional building set up behind me, here in the center of Clatos, with Federation negotiators attempting to keep the survivors of the Federation united, but this latest report confirms the rumors that the negotiations seem to have taken a bad turn—"

Lieutenant General Claude Schilling, Jr. snorted in contempt and angrily snapped off the screen. "Negotiations seem to have taken a bad turn," he mimicked savagely. After a moment, he started laughing hysterically. "You have absolutely _no _idea..." he choked out between coughing laughter. After a moment, he settled again. He threw an arm over his eyes. "The negotiations," he began, carrying on a conversation with imaginary news reporters, "have been an unmitigated disaster," he said levelly. "In fact, I would venture," he continued energetically, "that this constitutes an even greater calamity than the Executioners did."

He dragged himself off his bunk, scowling openly and reaching for the open bottle of scotch on his desk. His uniform –sans uniform jacket, which had been carefully thrown over the back of his desk chair some time before – was wrinkled from long hours of wear. His eyes looked bleary (he had been working on that bottle of scotch for the past two hours) and he rubbed a hand through his sandy hair in an overly aggravated manner.

With a refreshed shot of scotch, he turned back to the blank screen. "But how, you may ask, could this have happened? Isn't the Federation the preeminent power in the galaxy?"

He tossed back another shot of scotch. "How? Simple. The majority of the Federation negotiators," he explained patiently, "are pathetic, toothless old men, too frightened to ply the use of force the way they _should_."

His mocking tone shifted, more of his own bitter voice intermingling into it. "Because they 'want to avoid war' and 'maintain friendships' with the traitorous bastards breaking off from the Federation – the very Federation that humanity shed sweat and tears and bled white _to make_ – they won't treat the traitors for what they really _are!_" He grimaced, looking as if he wanted to spit in disgust. "Neutral Powers," he muttered.

He twisted rapidly, his voice rising, as if shouting at an unseen crowd in his quarters. "It's the cowards in power, who are too scared to fight to preserve our order against the bastards _stabbing us in the back_ right when we need unity the most!"

Schilling stumbled over to the view port again, holding his half-depleted glass of scotch against his head. "But that's okay… I mean, this isn't a surprise – I knew that was going to happen the first day I sat down to those negotiations."

He drunkenly turned towards the blank view screen. "And that, Mr. News-castor, to give you an exclusive scoop," he explained, jutting the drink toward the screen, "is why a certain Lieutenant General Schilling skipped the rest of the talks."

He started to grin. His gaze was fixed on his view port, which offered a clear view of devastated Earth, the sun rising behind it. "Because thanks to a 'gift' from a long departed friend, I can fix the errors of those bloated fools. I, at least, have every confidence that the Federation's going to be fine. _Earth_'s going to be fine. Yes… All thanks to you, Dr. Leingod – the Federation's very own martyred saint."

He started to chuckle – he rather liked the sound of that. "With your help, I'll drag the Federation back from the brink – traitors be _damned_." He drained off the last of his scotch, then tossed the glass away.

He clenched his fist, a reddish glow surrounding it. It was weak, but its presence was unmistakable. "Everything's going to be just fine…" His low laughter reverberated through the small cabin.


	2. One: Sleepy Peace

Wrapped in an inky blackness, Maria Traydor's cabin aboard the _Diplo_ was a corner of tranquility on an otherwise hectic ship. Maria's recent announcement of the dissolution of Quark had much of the crew in an uproar, rapidly packing and trying to make hasty plans for the future.

The ship itself was in orbit around Expel, making necessary refits and repairs before the last leg of Quark's journey back to Klaus, all of which only added to the recent frantic nature on-ship. But in Maria's cabin, at least for a little while, all such troubles could be forgotten…

…until the morning alarm rudely let reality barging back in, anyway. Opening a groggy eye, Fayt Leingod twisted to glare at the bedside chronometer. Contrary to his initial assumption – that the damn thing had gone crazy and was going off _way _too early in the morning – the machine balefully showed that it was, indeed, time already to face the world.

He slapped at the traitorous device with his free hand. Staring at the ceiling, Fayt wondered if he could get away with pretending that the alarm had never gone off – after all, by the looks of things, Maria hadn't heard a thing. _Then again_, he thought, _when she _does_ come around, she'll be quite put out if I _didn't _wake her. _He let out a sigh. "Duty calls…"

He shifted and faced Maria (who had remained quite peacefully asleep throughout his little battle with his conscience). "Maria," he whispered, softly shaking her shoulder, "it's time to get up."

Maria didn't respond with words, instead attempting to snuggle deeper into the blankets and pillows. It didn't work half as well as she must've hoped, but she looked rather determined to stay in bed regardless. Fayt, meanwhile, shrugged. _Well, I tried. _His conscience thus placated, he settled back in himself.

**OOO **

"Is _that_ what they're calling it now?" Mirage Koas asked, favoring Cliff Fittir with a slight smile. The hint of humor in her voice would be easily missed unless you really knew her.

"Very funny," Cliff fired back in an airy tone, leaning back from her image on the communication screen. "But you know that I don't have any fun on those little dinner dates: they're always so fake." Cliff waved his hands in the air. "And yet if I want to keep negotiations civil, I have to keep going to them!"

"That's always what I liked about you, Cliff." There wasn't a trace of reproach in her tone

"Short end of the stick?" he asked.

Mirage just smiled, and nodded back. Cliff shook his head, closing his eyes. _Heh. I guess she's right... _somebody _has to throw themselves in front of the train, if we want anything to ever get done properly... _He frowned for a moment. _Who would have ever thought that I'd refer to dinner with the beautiful Ally of Midgard as being thrown under the train_? He shook his head again.

"Speaking of the negotiations... Any new developments?"

Cliff shifted slightly. "So far, so good, I guess. Both sides have been keeping calm, so far, and with any luck the entire issue will just iron itself out without any _dramatic_ problems." He shrugged. "Honestly, there's just the nitty-gritty details stuff left: the Neutral Powers are all but certain to withdraw from what's left of the Federation at this stage."

"How detailed are we talking at this point?" Mirage pressed.

"Well... Let's just say that it won't be too long before they're discussion the splitting of Federation tonnage and equipment on break-away planets."

Mirage leaned back for a second; it hardly seemed real sometimes. In more ways than one, it was the end of an era.

"It looks nice out there..." Cliff observed after a moment. He indicated with a nod to the open doors of the rustic styled dojo Mirage was sitting in half a galaxy away. A breeze stirred the trees, which looked very much like the cherry blossoms of Earth.

"Spring's just starting here," Mirage noted slowly.

Cliff leaned his head back for a moment, his eyes closed. "So... uh..." An uncomfortable pause, so rare around Cliff, "...How's the old man?"

Mirage's expression remained neutral (though she lowered her gaze from her communication set), and she calmly laced her hands in her lap. "He's putting up quite the show, but..." she paused for a moment, then turned her full attention back to the screen. "He's a lot worse than I feared."

It had been easy, back then in the spaceport, to toss good natured jokes about the old man's condition, Cliff reflected. The old man had been known to pull such stunts before, and, to be honest, Cliff had meant what he said – it seemed like that old bird was never going to die. But now that it might be staring them in the face...

Cliff swallowed, realizing the silence that seemed to stretch on too long. "Tell him..." he began, only to falter seconds later. How can you relate a lifetime of respect and admiration with _words_, especially words not even delivered in person? How is it even possible to—

"He knows, Cliff. He knows." She closed her eyes. When they opened again, it was apparent Mirage was doing her best to be upbeat. "And he isn't out of the fight yet."

Cliff, after a half beat too long, nodded. "Yeah. You're right."

"Hey, Cliff! We're pulling into Roak orbit!" boomed Lancar's rough voice from the cockpit of the _Eagle II_.

With a rakish smile that he perhaps wasn't feeling as strongly as he would have liked, Cliff shrugged. "Well, duty calls, and I've still got a few more people to talk to before negotiations start up again – I'm signing off."

Mirage nodded. "Roger. Watch your back."

"Don't I always?" Cliff asked with characteristic aplomb as he switched off his comm.

**OOO**

At approximately the same time, Interim Federation President Ophelia Vectra very much wished she could afford the luxury of a good fifteen minute break, as she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. It had been months since she had been sworn into the position, in the hectic mess following the decapitation of the Federation government after the Executioner attack on Earth. And, at certain moments, the former Senator from Tetragenesis seemed to feel every back-breaking _second _of those months weighing down on her.

Ophelia swiveled her chair away from her desk, to face the window behind her. Clatos Central Spaceport looked busy at that time of day, a variety of shuttles constantly whizzing to and fro. Her new (_temporary_, Ophelia tried vainly to convince herself) office had once been the presidential suite of a high class hotel near the spaceport – a convenient location between the biggest transport hub on the planet and the temporary Congress housed further in downtown Clatos.

She had never had any great aspirations to become the next great leader of the Federation, she reflected as she stared out the window. Prior to the Executioner attacks, the junior Senator from Tetragenesis was just another young politician, eager to prove herself and gain membership on one of the higher committees. She had been away from Earth at the time of the attack, seeing to some personal business in Tetragenesis, and... And nearly all of the Federation government hadn't been as lucky.

As Earth, Roak, Expel, and Tetragenesis constituted the single most powerful voting bloc in the Federation – the 'Big Four' as the pundits had dubbed it – there was little question that a representative from one of the surviving members of government from one of them should be sworn in as Interim President (as much as it rankled some planets like Midgard). As most of those in the Presidential chain of succession had been wiped out with Earth... There were really only the few surviving senators (who, like Ophelia, were more often junior than not) and the planetary governors left to pick up the pieces.

And so a deal was struck, an alliance between Prime Minister Kross of Expel, President Mell of Roak, and the Tetragenesis Council of Four Houses. Kross – Eleanor, a dear friend – had her hands full with managing security for the entire Arkula System – and very nearly all of Theta Sector! – with her reduced garrison. And the entire government of Roak was still working on resolving the massive refugee influx from Earth and the rest of Theta Sector... And when one finally considered that Tetragenesis seemed to have been completely ignored during the Executioner attacks, there really hadn't been much of a question of who was going to have to take up the leadership mantle among the remaining 'Big Four'

Initially, President Vectra had based her operations out in the Genesis System, in the Vectra Satellite. But after the Second Federation Charter had been signed, she felt it her duty to try and return some normalcy to the Federation and had, as fast as was feasible, relocated the Federation 'capitol' back to Theta Sector...

"In fact," she muttered quietly to herself, "if not for Earth remaining a smoking ruin, the Federation space forces suffering casualties of over sixty percent, or about large swaths of the Federation holding referendums on secession, you almost wouldn't notice the difference..."

She frowned; that was definitely her maudlin side talking again – a recent addition to her always busy mind. She hadn't been that way before. _But I guess trying to piece back together a shattered galaxy will have that effect on some people. _

Her tenure as president so far had been marked by strain, hardship, and near strife. History would later record Ophelia most favorably for her shrewd and seemingly tireless leadership in those difficult times, but right then Ophelia did not feel much more than a worn Tetrageniot who wanted little more than to imagine someone taking her place.

It had been hard enough to organize relief efforts, not to mention coordinating the moving of refugees, all the while trying to maintain the cover story for the Executioner incident (_4D beings, indeed! _Ophelia mused. _The general public would _never _believe something so... _ludicrous. And _then_ the entire secessionist movement (Ophelia _refused _to refer to them as the 'Neutral Powers' on principle) had broken out!

_No point in complaining_, she thought tiredly. _Someone needs to be strong for this Federation, and unfortunately it looks like it's going to have to be me. _She glanced over the personnel report she had been trying to slog through. "Brigadier General Claude Schilling, Jr., Federation Marine Corps," she read aloud quietly.

She frowned. "Schilling... That name..." She flipped through the remaining pages of the report, her eyes lighting upon the information she sought. "Ah, right... The _Invisible _Incident." General Schilling's father had been something of a loose cannon, and attempted to assassinate the leader of the anti-Federation group Quark in SD 770.

Officially, the _Invisible _failed in the attempt, then was shortly thereafter engaged with elements of the Aldian Empire and destroyed by an experimental Aldian weapon. In reality... _Well, I guess that doesn't really matter right now... _she thought to herself. The real question was whether or not Schilling shared his father's instability.

Nothing in his average-to-favorable service record seemed to suggest anything of the sort... As Ophelia soon discovered, the younger Schilling had been born and raised on Earth, and had enlisted in the Marine Corps (_just like his father_, Ophelia though dryly) right out of high school. He was posted to a variety of locations in the Sol System, before finally obtaining his own command at Remote Station #5 with the 932nd Marine Division, where he served with distinction against various interstellar pirate forces. Following the Executioner attacks, he had requested and been granted a transfer back to Sol System, along with much of his command from RS-5.

And with the recent rash of attacks, Brigadier General Schilling was now one of the highest ranking officers left in the Corps, and also the top candidate for the new Marine representative on the Joint Chiefs. Federation regulations called for each of the armed forces to have a representative at all times...

But Ophelia still didn't quite feel right about him. She wished she could speak to him in person, to try and get a read on what kind of person he was, but that was impossible; Schilling was apparently dispatched on training exercises in the Heylon System on the far end of Kappa Sector. _Heylon? _she wondered to herself. _Who would want to conduct training that close to the border of Zeta Sector? There are no friendly planets for light-years around – only Rezerb and their 'protectorates_.' _Why _there _of all places? _

From the silence in her office, she wryly figured that she was not going to get an answer. And though she still felt uncomfortable about it, Schilling _was_ the most qualified for the position... and possibly more importantly, she had no legitimate reason to _not _approve of his appointment, _especially _with the way he had been courting the media for the past few weeks...

With that out of the way, President Vectra went back to work, though she still couldn't shake a nagging feeling.

**OOO**

The comm. link on the far side of the room began beeping, shattering the cabin's tranquil atmosphere. Almost immediately, Maria's eyes snapped open. "Oh… _hell_," she muttered, in a surprising loss of composure (in her defense, it _was _early). She clambered out of bed with a determined stride, quickly opening her wardrobe.

Fayt was a little less energetic, sitting up only several moments later. _So much for sleeping in_… "Any idea who that is?"

Maria pulled free a robe and draped it over her night clothes. "Not particularly, though I doubt that it's anything _too _serious." She paused for a moment at the wardrobe before digging out a few of Fayt's clothes – in this case one of the omni-use Quark uniforms. "Here," she said, tossing them to Fayt. "And don't think I don't know what you were up." She accompanied her statement with a stern glare. For his part, Fayt contented himself with a sulky glower as he pulled on his shirt.

Maria dropped into her chair, then hit the comm. "This is Maria."

The cocky smirk of Cliff Fittr appeared on the screen. "Mornin', Maria," he greeted in an altogether too cheery manner. "I hate to call you like this, but there are some things I wanted to get your opinion on before the next round of negotiations and…" he finally seemed to notice Maria's robe. "Oh! I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Maria felt a yawn coming on – she attempted to stifle it as best she could. "No, no it's all right – I needed to get up anyway. What was it, exactly, that you wanted to talk about…?" Out of Cliff's field of vision, Maria waved Fayt off – her method for telling him to go on ahead without her.

For his part, Fayt nodded, unsurprised. _Figures it'd be a business call. _Slipping on the last of his clothes, Fayt slipped out of the room, just as Maria and Cliff began tossing around highly complicated political jargon. Adjusting the collar to his uniform jacket (which he would continue to fiddle with throughout the rest of the day – he had never quite gotten used to the pseudo-military Quark uniforms) he shuffled down the corridor, heading for the mess hall.

The mess was nearly empty, save for Marietta, meditatively nursing a plate of eggs, and Lieber, frantically scribbling things down from several tablets he had scattered on the table around him. Fayt waved to Marietta, who smiled back; Lieber was much too engrossed in his own little world. "Mornin' Marietta," Fayt murmured, sitting down at the same table.

"Good morning, Fayt!" Marietta chirped good-naturedly.

"Any big news this morning?" Fayt asked, picking up one of the spare tablets on the table.

At this, Marietta's good natured smile wavered for a moment. "Uh… Well, the Federation has made has, uh, made some announcements…concerning Earth…"

Fayt lowered the tablet. "Have they?" he asked, his voice carefully measured.

Marietta nodded resolutely. "At least, that's what they mentioned this morning on the news…" She calmly keyed in a few things on her tablet, then handed it to Fayt. He took it with no noticeable hesitation, and calmly triggered the keyed program.

The broadcast, marked as having been made roughly an hour previous, started mid-report. "...have just received word from Federation spokesmen that the Pangalactic Federation Congress has indeed confirmed a change of name for the Federation... And..." the news anchor looked off-camera for a moment, before turning back, "And now with more on this story, we're going join a live press conference called by Lieutenant General Schilling of the Federation Marine Corps – the leading advocate for the name legislation – which should just be starting..."

The scene changed, to a small, nondescript looking briefing room. A Federation Marine Corps emblem hung behind a plain looking podium (which itself was adorned with a standard collection of microphones). Several rows of reporters sat fidgeting in front of the podium. After a moment, Lieutenant General Schilling – looking sharp in a freshly pressed Marine uniform, a healthy fruit salad of ribbons on his chest – appeared from a door on the left. After a moment more of shuffling several papers as he stood behind the podium...

"Good afternoon. If there are no objections," Schilling began, with snake-like charm, "I guess I'll just get to it." A low ripple of laughter echoed through the room among the reporters.

"For a long time now, both before and after the recent assault of the Executioner terrorist group, there has been a tendency to focus outward – the grand concept of exploration and the admirable goal of bringing the promise of prosperity the Pangalactic Federation represents to as many as possible – sometimes at the expense of the current member planets.

"This along with the recent… changes… made to the fabric of the Federation itself – I speak, of course, of the announcement three weeks ago of the intention of several dozen planets to withdraw from the Federation body – has prompted a critical reexamination of the nature of the Federation's mission. In this vein, the Pangalactic Congress has approved, in a move I and many others highly commend, legislation reverting the Pangalactic Federation back to the 'Earth Federation,' so that the sacrifices made by one of its key, founding members will not be forgotten.

"A change of this nature reflects, too, the broader policy decisions that truly prompted this press conference. I asked for this time to personally announce the Federation's new Earth Reclamation project. As we speak, several Federation cruisers are towing Federation Station 5 back into its proper Lunar orbit. From Moonbase, utilizing the technology we have at hand as well as the staunch support of our allies, the Federation Corps of Engineers will undertake an ambitious project whose aim and stated goal is nothing short of the restoration of the planet Earth to fully livable conditions, comparable to pre-Executioner levels."

In the pause following this announcement, the conference room burst into excited chatter, questions from the reporters already flying. Schilling held up a hand and, once the room had quieted, continued. "Once Earth has been rehabilitated, the Federation will then be willing to assist any of our allies in need of similar restoration."

His face grew solemn. "In our post-Executioner world, we must all band together, for only with a united front can we triumph over…"

Fayt clicked off the tablet, his expression still neutral. Marietta cautiously leaned forward. "Well? Is it what you were hoping for?"

Fayt nodded, slowly at first but soon quickening in pace. "I think so."

Marietta, for her part, looked relieved, but Fayt had the feeling that she didn't really understand – her relief, he speculated, hinged mostly on the prospect that Fayt would stop thinking about Earth and generally moping around the _Diplo_.

Having been born on Earth, only to watch it so casually destroyed because Luther had _willed_ it… Suffice to say, there was a lot of emotion wrapped up in the now-lifeless orb, and the immeasurable relief Fayt felt that the Federation wasn't going to abandon it (in fact, just the opposite!) was hard to put into words.

Fayt scrounged up something that resembled breakfast—the food service machines were one of the innumerable items on the _Diplo_ that had yet to be refit, much to everyone's chagrin. Yes, yes, making sure the subspace and creation engines were still functioning properly and wouldn't explode during the final leg of the journey _was_ important and a top priority, but sometimes Fayt wondered, especially as he contemplated runny eggs.

After breakfast, Fayt bid adieu to Marietta (who was due on the bridge a few minutes later anyway) and Lieber (still buried in his various lists and notes) and headed towards the _Diplo_'s tiny observation deck.

He was mildly surprised to find Maria already there, her faux-uniform looking crisp as always. "I must admit I didn't expect you to beat me here," he said as he walked through the hatch.

She turned slightly, staring at Fayt's reflection in the view port. "And why's that?"

He waggled his hands for emphasis. "Political conference calls with Cliff _never_ take less than two hours."

Maria closed her eyes and folded her arms, sulking. "Well, I just had to _strenuously _remind Cliff that he's going to have to deal with _politics _on his own from here on out." The way she said it, even just the word _politics _seemed to leave a sour taste in her mouth.

Fayt moved next to her, resting his elbows on a railing. "It's just his way of checking up on you – you know how he is. He's not very good at… that sort of thing."

She sighed, suddenly leaning against Fayt. "I suppose you're right. But he really should pick a new method to show his concern – I'm _done_ with being a leader. Remember, as soon as the _Diplo_'s refits are complete, you and I jump ship."

Fayt dropped into a sloppy military salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

His play-acting had the intended effect: Maria rolled her eyes and lightly slapped his arm. "Knock it off," she warned playfully.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded automatically, "Your wish is—Ow! That one hurt!"

"I warned you," Maria replied, a trace of laughter in her voice.

Maria turned and walked towards the exit of the observation deck, her hands clasped and dangling behind her. "Mister _Lein_god," she started solemnly, "I am headed to the bridge to check on the progress of the refits. Would you care to join me?" Her tone was jaunty.

Fayt moved to follow. "Of course! How could I let the captain brave the dangers of the _Diplo_ corridors unprotected?" He reached for a sword that was no longer there. "I shall be as the lady's stoic guard!"

Maria rocked back and forth on her heels. "Not _too_ stoic, I hope."

In response, Fayt whipped his invisible sword about in an overly showy display. "As my lady captain decrees!"

She would never admit it, but his occasional jolly over-exuberance was part of Fayt's charm. At that precise moment, Maria was quite thankful that her back was to Fayt, neatly hiding her blossoming grin.

"Onwards, then," she said evenly, and then the two marched out into the _Diplo_'s corridors.


	3. Two: Hardball Politics

"I'm sure," Schilling said warmly, "that you could see the benefits to our two nations working together."

The man sitting across from him shifted, an arm callously thrown over the back of his chair. "Well, see, I'm still not entirely sold on some _particulars _of the deal," he answered, his tone approaching petulant.

Schilling's warm tone and friendly expression hardened. "Oh? And just what particular part isn't as attractive as the rest?"

"I'll cut right to the point – I can see what _you _gain from such a deal, but I fail to see the benefit for _me _or _my_ allies." The man suddenly leaned forward. "I mean, look at it from my point of view: suddenly, the Pangalactic—"

"That's _Earth _Federation," Schilling corrected almost without thought, "—and I'll ask you not to forget that fact."

Schilling's negotiation partner held up his hands. "Oh yes, of course – my deepest apologies." His tone made it clear that he was hardly sincere. "_Ahem,_" he began again, "Suddenly, the _Earth_ Federation changes its stance toward my government, deciding that we no longer deserved to be _decried_ and _sanctioned_, no, now we deserve to _work _with the _great _and _mighty_ Federation."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Schilling answered noncommittally.

The other man leaned forward. "Oh, don't feed me _that_ – you and I both know why you've changed your tune. I guess finding out that large swaths of your 'coalition of the willing' aren't so _willing_ can have that effect, or so I'd imagine." His smile was cruel.

Schilling, however, was not about to be baited. _And here I had figured that such a competent grasp of the situation was beyond him. _Schilling remained silent, but his lips curled ever so slightly.

"But you know, Schilling," the other man continued, kicking his feet up on the conference table, "I do believe that we could… _adjust _our little deal – I rather like you, you see – to more adequately benefit my government and even the…" he paused, groping for the word, "_balance_ of rewards. For example, I _would_ be willing to commit a number of my forces to assist the Federation in these little 'police actions' of yours… _provided _that, say, I was allowed to expand my government's area of influence…?"

Schilling narrowed his eyes; it was pretty damn obvious what this fellow wanted. _He'll help the Federation, but only if we turn a blind eye to his rampant imperialism._

In lieu of an immediate response, Schilling drummed his fingers on the conference table. He glanced over to several of his tablets, listing the current available fighting forces of the Federation. _The fact that I need his brute strength so much disgusts me... _Fate had played a strange had when his 'partner in negotiations' had been spared much of the brunt of the Executioner attacks. He considered his counter-part across the table. _But I know it'll be worth it... and I have every confidence I can handle this idiot when the time comes_.

Plastering on a smile that contrasted sharply with his thoughts, Schilling extended a hand across the table. "Then I believe, Sergeant Brooklund, we have a deal. I have a feeling that great things will come from this new cooperation between Rezerb and the Federation."

The feeling in the room was chilly. As the two men shook hands, it was glaringly obvious that their smiles were brittle at best and their grips were far too hard.

**OOO**

"Are you even listening to me?" Maria demanded, a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Huh?" Fayt asked, more or less answering her question.

An aggravated sigh escaping her lips, Maria turned to glare at Fayt. "Fayt, I certainly can't make plans for the two of us if you aren't even paying attention."

Fayt scratched the back of his head. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

Maria's irritated look faded, replaced by a perplexed frown. "Fayt, is something on your mind?"

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but stopped, shaking his head. "I know it sounds silly, but…" He picked up a tablet from the bed next to him, gesturing with it. "I'm a bit worried about the Federation's project on Earth."

Maria leaned forward. "But you were so excited about it a few days ago…" she said quietly.

He nodded. "Yeah." He raked a hand through his hair. "I guess it's just hitting me now that it's going to take _years_ for it to make any headway," he started, looking up. _For all intents and purposes_, a voice in the back of his mind murmured bitterly,_ it_ is_ just a desert of glass now._ "It's a bit hard to swallow that I really won't see Earth like it used to be any time soon. And even if it does start to get back... it's..." He met her eyes. "It's never going to be the same again." He sighed. "Especially since..." He didn't finish, but Maria knew where he was going. _...especially since Dad died_.

"Fayt…" Maria said quietly. She looked down to her hands. "I know it's hard..." she began. "At the end of the day, though," she continued, her tone quiet but strong, "we have to focus on what we've got left…"

There was a pause – it was completely quiet in Maria's cabin. Finally Fayt smiled weakly. "Yeah. You're right." He pointedly turned his gaze back to the display on Maria's terminal. "So we can make it to Roak within two weeks after we leave the _Diplo_?"

To her credit, Maria could see the effort Fayt was putting into setting his melancholia aside – she decided to play along. "Yes," she answered, glancing back to her terminal and tapping the screen with her fingernail. "According to the Federation's schedules, there's a transport that'll be leaving Expel for Roak in a few days, and repairs should be complete to the _Diplo_ by then, so..."

She turned back to Fayt, a weak grin on her face. "The transport's nothing too fancy, I'm afraid – one of those first generation gravitic engine jobs the Federation pulled out of mothballs: hence the long transit time. Oh, and remember," she added, playfully slapping his knee, "when we're on the transport, I'm 'Marianna Silvestoli' and you're 'Ernest Madison.'"

Fayt's nose crinkled. "'_Ernest_ Madison?' Do I really have to go by _that _alias?"

"Yes," she said firmly, "I've already signed us up under those names, so no trying to change it now..." She frowned. "And what's wrong with 'Ernest?' I always rather liked that name," she explained, looking supremely confidant. "It always seemed so..._ intelligent_, as far as names go." She gave Fayt a sidelong look. "And besides, it was better than your idea: 'Barney Neuyman,' indeed."

Fayt looked like he was on the verge of sticking his tongue out at Maria. Sulkily, he said, "Hey, you have to admit, though, that that would probably be the last name anyone would think to look under for me."

"_Anyway_," Maria said determinedly, trying to get back to the main topic, "if you let them know, I'd almost imagine that your mother and Sophia could meet us at the platform."

A genuine smile blossomed on Fayt's face. "It'll be good to see them again," he said, a bit wistfully. "I've really missed them both."

Her chair swiveling again, Maria grimaced. "Fayt—about that, I—"

Fayt held up a hand, grinning again. "Hey, none of that. I stayed on the _Diplo_ because I wanted to, okay? Mom and Sophia both understood."

Not all of the consternation left Maria's expression. "If you say so…" she said dubiously.

Fayt leaned forward, grasping her hand. "I _do_ say so." He paused, adopting a smile. "Hey, come on," he said, rubbing the back of her hand in a reassuring manner, "keep the brave face on – the crew expects it, eh, Captain?"

Maria's expression softened. "Fayt, how is it that you always know how to cheer me up?"

He shrugged it off. "I guess that's just one of my many talents... you know, along with saving the universe and looking damn sexy."

Maria responded by throwing a pillow at him.

**OOO**

"…and while President Vectra extends her apologies over not being able to attend, she_ has_ given her go-ahead for this little get-together. Therefore, I hereby call this meeting of the Federation Executive Council to order." The Senate majority leader nodded to the other members of the circular table, then pointedly looked at a man off to his right. "Well, General Schilling? This is _your_ show."

Schilling nodded back calmly; if he seemed perturbed at the President's absence, he didn't show it. "Ladies and Gentlemen, first, of course, let me extend my deepest gratitude for my appointment to the Federation Joint Chiefs, and consequently, my presence here. I understand the great responsibility this entails, and, as always, you have my word that I will faithfully execute my post."

He made a deliberate show of rearranging the few scattered papers sitting before him. Once satisfied, he calmly examined the collected bodies around the conference table. "Well then, to my point. Although I have not been a part of this esteemed body for very long, I _have _had much experience first hand in the changes that have been wrought on our Federation – no, our very galaxy."

A space forces admiral – the new chair of the Joint Chiefs – reached for his cigar, taking a lazy puff. "Cut the crap, Schilling, and get to the damn point. The media may take to your self-indulgent blathering, but_ we're_ trying to get work done here."

Schilling's face had remained impassive during the interruption. "Self-indulgent? Hardly." He waved a hand, as if brushing the comment aside. "I'll tell you right now, Admiral: I've meant every word I've spoken – the only interest I have is in the protection of the Earth Federation."

The admiral was not placated by these remarks, however. "Really? So you championed the Earth Reclamation project over aid to member planets because you _care _about the _Federation_?" he asked between draws on his cigar. "As opposed to, say, currying favor with the media to make your bid to join the Joint Chiefs at your young age possible?" The aged admiral stared at Schilling directly in the eye. "Don't try and wrap your self-interested glory seeking under some guise of patriotism…." The admiral settled back in his chair.

The House minority leader nodded vigorously. "Quite right, quite right! As much as all of us were attached to Earth, it would be best to divert resources – for the time being—" he quickly amended when his majority counterpart gave him a certain look, "to places that we can still hope to save—"

Finally, Schilling did react, his face contorting in anger. "Earth _is _the Federation!" he snapped, his hands curling into fists on the table. After a moment, Schilling seemed to regain control, calmly smoothing the lapels of his uniform. "And as for the Reclamation project… I sincerely believe that is the best move for our _home. _And if the decision to back what I thought was right helped me obtain membership in this council, so be it."

The admiral snorted. "That's the only reason and you know it! If you suddenly weren't the media's darling…" He blew cigar smoke meditatively out from beneath his whiskers, apparently trying to calm himself. "If I knew I could do it without having the media crucify me and the rest of the Joint Chiefs, I'd boot your sorry ass off this council right now." His Army and Aerospace counterparts nodded in agreement.

Schilling's lips flattened to a thin line. "Oh, come now – with the recent problems with personnel, you know you would be unable to find a suitable replacement for the Marine Corps representative." He drummed his fingers rapidly. "And I doubt," he added after a short pause, "that my men would be pleased either."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the House Speaker interjected, "please, let's attempt to keep this civil." He ran a hand over his balding head. "Though I will have to ask that General Schilling get to his point…?" he asked.

Schilling, once again in control and seeming completely cool, nodded back. "Oh yes, of course." He straightened his uniform jacket. "I apologize for the seeming diversion," he began, as he slowly stood up, "but this actually has a lot to do with what we've been talking about.

"I'm not going to mince words: there is a _sickness_ infecting our Federation today, sapping our will to do the right and necessary thing. As a result, we now have certain new political realities we must face: clearly I speak of the secession movement. A crisis unparalleled in the history of the Federation—"

"No, we're not laying it on thick at all," the space forces admiral muttered.

Schilling continued as if he hadn't heard him. "And I will say that this _esteemed _Committee has played a key role in the events..." he paused, allowing the gathered committee members to digest. His tone had been neutral, and all the members had no reason to suspect that he was, in truth, condemningthem.

"Now, I had been hoping that by coming to this meeting I would be dissuaded from the course I knew had to be taken, but so far all I've seen are a pack of traitorous dogs." Schilling made the statement so calmly and without fanfare that everyone in the room almost found themselves agreeing before they really listened. He continued, "And that really leaves me with no choice."

"What?" The space forces admiral shot to his feet, surprisingly fast for a heavyset, older man in his condition.

Schilling's face had hardened into a cold mask. He snapped, once. The broad double doors to the conference room banged open, and a large group of Federation Marines stormed in. They quickly took up positions all around the rounded conference table... weapons drawn.

The Senate majority leader, normally a taciturn man, leaped to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. "You can't do this!"

Schilling's eyebrow quirked up in surprise. "Can't I?" he asked, his arms folded neatly behind him. "Admittedly, this is a bit unorthodox, and, yes, I am but a junior member of this council," he paused, his features sharpening, his smile suddenly devoid of warmth, "but then again, _I'm _not the one who let members of this once proud Federation backstab Earth in its time of need, am I?"

Schilling turned and started walking towards the door. "Well, you know what to do, boys." He chuckled softly as he left. _It would have been nice if the President had been here, too... but I think this may just have worked out for the best... _His boots clicked down the hall. _Yes... I'll just need some help from an old friend... And I'm sure you won't mind, will you... _Fittir?

**OOO**

Mirage favored Cliff with one of her rare smiles, whose effect was not diminished by the small communication set she used to communicate with Cliff on the _Eagle II_. She read his expression with the ease granted by long years of close familiarity. "Negotiations proceeding smoothly?" she asked dryly.

Cliff tossed his hands up into the air. "Ah, you know me too well!" he said light-heartedly before his expression hardened. "The Federation Executive Council has been pretty tight-lipped recently. Almost unnaturally so."

Mirage, sitting upon folded knees in the open air of a dojo, leaned forward towards her communicator. "Do you think they're planning something?" she asked quietly.

Cliff folded his arms and leaned back. "Against the separatists? Or maybe against a certain negotiator...?" he wondered aloud, a slight jauntiness in his tone as he referred to himself. He trailed off as he considered. "I wouldn't put it past them..." he decided after a moment. "But, to be honest, the EC _and _the Congress both have to work within the confines of weakened support bases. They can't be making too many unilateral decisions like that nowadays, at least not without a couple of dozen planets – if not _more_ – instigating a revolt." He wagged his finger for emphasis. "And that's something the Federation can't handle right now, at least not with its current Fleet strength."

He shrugged cavalierly. "Besides, I've become something of a big name celebrity in the Federation... Sure, it's as the 'bad guy' who's trying to break up the Federation, but _still_... people would notice if I just vanished suddenly."

"So," Mirage said finally, "Wait and see?" she asked, though she undoubtedly already knew the answer.

"Yup," Cliff answered, "Wait and see, and in the meantime let the politicians dance their dance..."

A light began flashing on Cliff's communications console. He glanced out the window of his hotel room. "Hunh... Looks like it's later than I thought." He turned back to the screen. "Speaking of the dance, it looks like its starting up already. I'd better get going."

Mirage nodded. "Okay." Mirage reached forward to click off her communications gear, but hesitated. The silence of the Federation on the secession issue had her worried. Cliff was probably right that nothing major would come of it. For all the jokes, though... "Cliff," she said after a moment. He looked up, a questioning look on his face. "Cliff," she repeated, "I've got a very bad feeling about all this. Make sure to step lightly and watch your back, hmm?"

His expression turned serious in a mirror of hers. "You got it," he answered. The two of them were silent for a moment, just locking gazes. Cliff finally nodded, once, then cut the connection.

Sitting before the blank screen, Mirage sighed. As much as she distained politics, the recent unnatural behavior of the normally blusterous Federation had her unnerved, and she wished that she could have been more... _useful_, backing Cliff's sometimes flighty nature with her own brand of cool confidence... and yet, at the same time, she knew in her heart that she could be nowhere else. After another short moment of pause, she slowly regained her feet and turned to go look for her father in the gardens.


	4. Three: Dark Turns

Fayt calmly finished composing a letter to his mother and Sophia, finally sending it off with a few short keystrokes. As he did, Maria came through the cabin door, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "Ready?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.

Fayt hesitated from answering for a moment, as he shut down the terminal. He pivoted in the chair. "Yeah," he finally replied, standing up. He walked towards her, stopping by the bed to pick up his small bag.

She nodded back, then keyed her comm. "This is Maria. Marietta, we're on our way." Without waiting for a response, Maria killed her connection. "Okay," she started, nodding, "we should be all set. They're waiting for us on the bridge."

Fayt rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, I'm sure they're waiting with baited breath for _me_." He shifted, a bemused look on his face. "You know they're really just waiting for you."

Maria adopted her "insufferable smarty-pants" look. "Well, either way, you and I work as a pair now, so I guess they get both, don't they?"

Fayt offered an expansive shrug in response, then waved Maria on out of the cabin. She flipped her hair, gave the small cabin a brief visual once over (a stab of nostalgia or simple practicality? Fayt was unsure) and turned out into the hall.

Fayt moved to follow. He too looked back, but his last glance was _definitely_ from lingering attachment. He hadn't known the place for very long (certainly nowhere as long as Maria had!) but he felt hesitant to leave. After everything that had happened... the cabin he shared with Maria had been the first place to start feeling like home again...

With an inaudible sigh, Fayt turned, killed the lights, and exited the room.

**OOO**

Ophelia Vectra, looking quite harried, folded her hands in her lap as she pensively looked out the view port of her private cabin aboard the hastily rechristened GFAS 0001 _Federation One_ (nee _Reliance_). "So there has been _no _word from the remaining executive council?"

One of her junior assistants – an overeager young man from Roak – flipped through several pages of notes and briefly conferred with several other staffers, his tail swishing violently. "No, Madam President," he answered after a few moments, blanching. "It's been a complete black out– not even their families have heard from them. Ever since..."

President Vectra nodded grimly. "Ever since Schilling called that emergency meeting..." she finished. It had been highly irregular for Schilling – only recently appointed by a matter of weeks to the Joint Chiefs! – to call for an emergency meeting. It only added to the suspicious nature of the entire matter that no one had heard from any one – exceptfor Schilling himself – since then. And even Schilling seemed to have been keeping a low profile. With an evasive report to President Vectra's office outlining vague "training exercises", Schilling had returned to what had become his _de facto _office on Luna.

Ophelia sighed heavily, and tried to will herself to relax. It had only been by chance that Ophelia hadn't been at the meeting as well. She had been away at the time – a last minute food crisis had arisen on Ragnar IV, and she had decided to personally escort the new food shipments in an effort to stop the remnants of the Federation from hemorrhaging any more credibility or confidence.

Well... that was what the talking heads had declared her intentions were after the fact (_amazing_, Ophelia wondered, _how they managed to survive all this... must be more like roaches than I thought_); the truth of the matter was that she honestly didn't trust most of her newly appointed staff to handle the mission... at least not without major graft or gross incompetence ruining the relief effort.

And now, she was trying to rocket back to Roak with a hastily scrapped together escort to see just what the _hell_ was going on back home. So far the media hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, which was a blessing of sorts. _If I'm lucky, the ExComm. just decided to take a government funded vacation to Hyda IV – if they've rebuilt yet... _She closed her eyes. _I just hope to god its something that trivial like that: honest greed and wrongfully used funds I can deal with_... Her expression soured. _A hostage crisis or... god forbid, a coup attempt I can't... _

It had become pretty clear to her by then that the appointment of Brigadier General Schilling _had _been a mistake. A flinty smile adorned Ophelia's face, as she imagined just what she was going to say to that pompous media hound as she informed him that by Executive Order he was removed from—

_Federation One _suddenly lurched wildly. Ophelia's staffers all tumbled to the floor, and it took a great deal of effort for Ophelia to remain seated in her chair. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, propriety forgotten for the moment.

Her Roakian staffer from before worked his mouth silently, then dashed to the front of Ophelia's suite, savagely slamming down the comm. near the door. After a few moments of frenzied discussion, the staffer turned back. "Madam President, the captain is on comm. channel one."

Ophelia nodded, hitting a stud on her desk. Captain Windsor, a good solider, constant companion, and something of a friend (he had been originally been assigned as Ophelia's head of security her first term as a Senator), appeared on the view screen on her desk. "Madam President," he acknowledged with a nod.

"Skip the formalities, Fred," Ophelia said flatly. "What's the situation?"

"We have an unknown craft astern," Fred explained in a manner-of-fact voice. The image on Ophelia's comm. switched to a local space chart, with positions for _Federation One, _her escorts, and the unknown ship marked off with glowing icons. Fred's face reappeared in a box in the bottom right hand corner. "Somehow it slipped past our sensors and managed to open fire on the _Phoenix_." He glanced at a read-out on the bridge, then wiped a hand across his forehead. "She's taken heavy damage, but she's managing to keep up."

_An enemy ship managed to slip past our sensors... how is that—? And how a single ship could do so much damage to— _

Ophelia stared intently at the seemingly innocuous red and white icon trailing the three green friendlies. "I'm coming to the bridge," she declared after a moment. Fred looked as if he wanted to protest, but after a moment only nodded. With a determined stride, charging past staffers suddenly unsure of what to do with themselves, Ophelia marched out of her suite and into the corridors of _Federation One. _

Her mind raced as she marched down the corridor. Why, nothing short of another Feddie battleship could have done such severe damage to the _Phoenix_. And how had they managed to sneak up on the—

"They're opening fire again!" Fred suddenly called out just as she stepped onto the bridge. An electric bolt, shot out from the unknown vessel, slammed a second time into the _Phoenix_. Her shields already damaged from the first surprise attack, the _Phoenix _rocked violently.

"Sir, _Phoenix_'s shields are down, and—" Fred's XO never quite got the chance to finish. The creation cannon onslaught from the mysterious attacker showed no signs of slowing. Ophelia watched helplessly as the _Phoenix_'s hull began to just simply dissolve away. Within seconds, the _Pheonix_'score failed, erupting into a violent explosion of creation energy that rocked the surviving _Federation One _and _Vera Cruz_.

"Do we have an identification on that ship?" Ophelia asked, her voice surprisingly calm considering that one of her escorts had just been annihilated in front of her eyes. But while her gaze never once left the master tactical plot on the main screen, inwardly she felt panic rising slowly but surely. _Oh god, the _Phoenix _is _gone_ and that ship_—

Fred shook his head in disbelief. "It almost looks like some sort of heavily modified heavy corsair, but I can't be certain without—"

"They're launching torpedoes!" shouted _Federation One_'s tactical officer.

Fred's expression turned grim. "Evasive action!" he bellowed. Both _Federation One _and _Vera Cruz_ strained their engines to get out of the way of a majority of the torpedoes. Most... but not all.

_Federation One _shook ominously, and Ophelia nearly lost her footing. "Madam President!" shouted the XO, as she did her best to keep Ophelia standing. Steadied, Ophelia nodded her thanks, then cast her eyes back up to the main tactical plot. The enemy vessel continued to close.

After a long, tense pause, Fred grunted. "Options," he grated out. The entire command staff remained silent. Fred laughed, a short bark that was devoid of humor. "That's what I was afraid of. Okay, keep us moving onward towards Roak, and try to keep us _out _of that... _thing's _weapon envelope. And someone contact Captain Monteblanc on the—"

"Sir," the communication officer broke in, "uh, actually Captain Monteblanc is already hailing us."

Fred looked dumb-founded for a moment, then nodded. "Well, all right then. Patch him through."

A prim looking human appeared on one of _Federation One_'s secondary screens. He nodded. "This is Captain Monteblanc of the _Vera Cruz_," he said in the clipped accent of an Englishman. "_Federation One_, prepare to break off and make a run for it. The _Vera Cruz _will attempt to slow them down as much as possible." The officer's face was grim.

"Charles, don't be stupid," Fred snapped. "We're not down to suicide runs yet, and—"

"Fred!" the other captain snapped back. After a moment, Monteblanc closed his eyes. "_Captain_ Windsor. You know as well as I do that our scans prove that vessel can out-pace us both over a long haul – if we just try to run, it'll be on us _long _before either ship can make it to the safety of Roakspace."

Ophelia had very rarely seen Fred Windsor at a loss for words. At that very moment, his jaw worked slowly but no words came. She could see that Fred very desperately wanted to disagree with Monteblanc, but... She closed her eyes.

"Madam President," a slight pause, then, "Do I have permission to engage?" Captain Monteblanc's question hung in the stressful air of _Federation One_'s bridge.

Ophelia wasn't an expert on ship to ship conflict, but she knew very well that a combat explorer like the _Vera Cruz _would ultimately be unable to take on that beast of a modified corsair – _if that _is _what that ship is!_ – head on. Maybe if the enemy ship hadn't managed to slip past their sensors, and maybe if the _Phoenix _was still alive, but...

As much as she hated sending young men and women off to their deaths – especially for her sake – she had a sinking feeling that there was no other choice. Ophelia forced herself to open her eyes and lock gazes with the officer. "I understand, Captain Monteblanc." The captain nodded grimly. "Thank you..." Ophelia added after a moment, "and good luck."

Monteblanc nodded once more, then terminated the connection. Ophelia, suddenly feeling as if a sack of rocks had been placed on her shoulders, gripped one of the bridge railings tightly. _Who _are _these people? _

She heard Fred take a deep breath, then, "Okay, you heard Captain Monteblanc," he said to the bridge crew, "I want..." He paused, as if the full horror of the situation had just struck him again. "Max engine burn – get us out of here." He shook his head lightly, as if to clear it.

Ophelia felt empty during the next few minutes of flight, periodic updates from the battle brewing behind them—

_Vera Cruz shields at 47! Damage registered to enemy engines – output down to 76! _

_The Vera Cruz has expended all her torpedoes – they're... oh dear god, they're moving in to use their cannons! Vera Cruz shields at 17! Enemy ship's main creation cannon destroyed! _

There was a pause to the hectic reports – the horrible moment before the hammerblow. _Vera Cruz shields _down! _Hull breeches on desk fifteen through twenty-three! They're... They've... _engaged _their engines! They're ramming—_

And just like that, the _Vera Cruz _and the enemy ship vanished from the screen, destroying one another in a massive burst of heat and light. Ophelia should have felt relieved... but instead all she kept seeing was the grim look on Captain Monteblanc's face as he – she as well! – consigned his crew to death...

"Fred, I want Captain Monteblanc to be specifically mentioned for gallantry in—"

She was interrupted by the shrill intake of breath from one of the tactical officers. "Captain!" the altogether too young looking female lieutenant shouted. "We've gotten a second contact, directly ahead of us – and it's giving the same signature and IFF as the ship the _Vera Cruz _managed to take with her!"

"What?" Fred demanded. He turned back to look at the master plot, and watched as a second ship was added directly on their course.

A young communications officer suddenly jerked straight up. "Captain! The enemy is finally hailing us – looks like text only over an open subspace channel. I'm patching it to your command chair now!"

Fred nodded, and quickly accessed the message with his personal keypad. His expression turned grimmer. He turned to Ophelia. "They've identified themselves, Madam President."

He paused, looking back at the display as if he wanted proof he had read it wrong the first time. "They've identified themselves as members of the Neutral Powers, ma'am, under orders from a... Cliff Fittir. And they've sent along this message:" Fred paused as he looked down to the transcript, then, "'Long live the free planets!' That's all."

_This doesn't make any sense! I've met with Fittir! He'd never—_

President Ophelia Vectra never managed to finish the thought, as a sudden bright light blinded her, and everything faded to white.

**OOO**

"...and his doctors have been saying that his results seem to have improved." Mirage let a small smile creep onto her face. "It's definitely positive news."

Cliff, with a mixture of seriousness and relief on his face, nodded back. "Tell that old coot that he continues to impress me..." he said, admiration and a hint of wonder in his voice. Perhaps the old man would manage to stave off any serious considerations of death for a few more years yet after all.

Mirage nodded. "And how go the negotiations this week?" she asked.

With a snort, Cliff shook his head. "What's there to negotiate these days?" he asked rhetorically. "Most of the separatists are starting to get nervous, but the executive committee is _still _not saying anything." He broke into a grin. "The cynic in me says that they've decided to just stick their heads into the sand and hope the secession movement either goes away or just changes their mind!"

He leaned back. "But I guess that's fine by me – what with this fancy hotel they've stationed me in," he gestured broadly to the room he sat in, "and with Clatos Beach so close by, it's like a dream vacation," beat, "but with more pompous politicians," he finished seriously.

She chuckled a bit, but her expression soon returned to business. "And what does the realist in you say?" she asked.

His lips pressed together in thought, Cliff folded his arms. "This is completely unlike them." He met Mirage's gaze again. "I've had Lancar look into a few leads and try to scare up some rumors—"

Cliff was momentarily distracted by an odd thumping sound. He shook it off. "And it seems like every one else is just as perplexed as I am. It's like they all just fell off the face of the universe." The thudding sound grew louder – it sounded vaguely like heavy footfalls. _Someone's in something of a rush..._ he though tiredly. "Until something changes," he continued, "everything is going to be stalled. Maybe things will get better when President Vectra returns from her trip, but..." he trailed off dubiously.

"Perhaps," Mirage said after a pause. "Speaking of returns," she continued, "if I recall, today's the day the _Diplo_ begins heading back to Klaus."

Cliff brightened. "Hey, that's right! I'll have to give Maria and Fayt a call before they jump ship to—"

The door to Cliff's suite suddenly blew open; Cliff hunkered down in his seat as debris flew past his head. "Cliff!" exclaimed Mirage from the communication console. Cliff didn't bother responding, instead leaping from the chair into a fighting stance. It was hard to see through the smoke, but there were four, maybe five attackers and—

A phase gun suddenly discharged, its bolt slamming into the communication display. Mirage's image abruptly broke off and the entire machine died with a mechanical hiss. _Hell_, Cliff thought darkly. They had the drop on him and he knew it. Still, that wasn't going to stop him from stomping them flat.

His muscles straining, he rushed forward. Though his opponents remained little more than hazy indistinct shapes, that was more than Cliff needed. He dove into the loosely organized group, arm already lashing out. His first punch slammed into one of his attackers, slamming that unfortunate against the wall opposite Cliff's door.

Cliff was already turning to face the next one before the rest of the assault group had even realized he had broken between them. He swept his leg out, sending #2 tumbling to the ground with a heavy thud. Twisting completely from the leg-sweep, Cliff rocked on his heels, then shot forward, planting another fist into another stomach. _Three down... _The rest of the assault group finally started to react: the demolitions expert out in the hall tossed away his gear and decided to close in by hand, while the fellow with the phase gun desperately tried to bring it up to bear on the blur that Cliff had become.

Too slow.

Cliff rammed the flat of his palm on the underside of the gun, watching with a touch of amusement as it discharged and burned a hole in the ceiling. With his other hand, he slammed a fist into the Marine's helmet, shattering part of the visor. The fellow slumped to the carpeted floor, and, while he would live, Cliff did not envy the headache he would have upon waking.

The Marine who wanted to go hand to hand was suddenly behind Cliff, to Cliff's dim surprise. Still, it took little effort to dodge the slow haymaker the Marine fired off. As he twisted, Cliff hopped back a step, then put all his strength into a kick planted in the Marine's midsection.

It definitely had an effect, just not the one Cliff had expected. The Marine grunted, sure, but he made no motion of dropping to the floor like all the others had done. Cliff's lips pressed into a thin line; judging by the Marine's size and surprising durability, Cliff was face to face with a Rondo Lukian. Cliff shoved off with his planted foot, forcing the Lukian to take a big half step back.

The Lukian, with reflexes a bit faster than the average humanoid, lunged – but he was still too slow for Cliff. Cliff grabbed the fellow's shoulder, then firmly planted a foot down: the effect was the Lukian's own momentum caused him to trip spectacularly over Cliff's planted leg. With a spin for flourish, Cliff slammed a kick into the fellow's upper back, adding to the Lukian's spectacular dive.

Cliff dropped back into a ready formation, allowing himself the luxury of a moment to catch his breath and survey his handiwork. _Gettin' sloppy_, he chided himself silently. _Going to have to tell Mirage that I need— _

It was then when Cliff realized he heard the sounds of more approaching troops – after a moment, he could see another six in the hall, three coming from either direction. _Looks like they brought all their friends, too_.

Grimly, Cliff broke left, dashing towards the oncoming Marines, aware that the group now behind him were probably already training their rifles on his back. _Time to screw up their aim_... As he near the group ahead of him, he lunged for the weapon of the lead Marine, yanking the assault rifle out of the shocked Marine's hands. "Here, catch!" he said to the same Marine, suddenly tossing the weapon back at him.

As the Marine fumbled with the weapon, Cliff took the valuable seconds of confusion to deliver a driving roundhouse kick. The Marine in the lead spun away in a lazy pirouette... right into his companions. They, for their part, buckled, but didn't fall... exactly what Cliff wanted, as he dashed past them, the Marines to his rear shouting for them to get out of the way of the shot...

As Cliff broke from the disorganized jumble, he keyed his comm. "Lancar! Are you there?"

Static filled the comm. channel for the first few seconds, then, finally (thankfully), "Aw, what is it Cliff? I told you when you called an hour ago, the engine diagnostic is almost done and—"

"Lancar, now's_ not _the time!" Cliff shouted as he dashed through the suddenly labyrinth-like hotel. "Are you still in the _Eagle_ right now?"

There was a pause, then, "Uh... Uh, yeah..." Lancar answered confusedly.

"Okay," Cliff started, as he slammed the door to the hotel's stairwell open, "then start her up! We've got a problem!" He grunted with exertion as he stared down the many flights of stairs – he would have vastly preferred to take a transporter, but he had a feeling Feddie Marines would be guarding each and every one. So, the stairs it was...

Cliff's frantic tone propelled Lancar to action, dropping his legs from their propped position on top of the main console, and moving from his comfortable reclining position to action. "What's the situation?" Lancar asked, his hands already flying across the _Eagle_'s controls.

Cliff leaped over a last railing, landing with a thud on the ground floor. "Federation Marines – they're apparently after my head."

Cliff thought he heard Lancar curse. "What'd you do this time?" he asked, half in jest. After a moment and several rough mechanical noises in the background, Lancar continued. "Okay, she's still a little shaky, but she's starting."

With a firmly planted kick, Cliff plowed through a locked door. "Okay – if I'm not there in five minutes, take off without me!"

"What?" came Lancar's shocked reply. "Cliff, I can't just—"

"Yes, you can! Try and get to Fayt and Maria – and that's an order!" Cliff killed his comm., continuing through the subbasement tunnels that connected the hotel and the nearest spaceport...

...and rounded the last corner to find himself face to face with fifteen Federation assault rifles.

"Put your hands into the air, _right now_!"

Although it galled him, Cliff slowly responded, raising both hands into the air. He watched as several Federation Marines, in full combat gear, encircled him. The leader – a serious looking lieutenant – marched forward and pulled his helmet off. "Cliff Fittir?" he asked. Cliff nodded, though his expression remained sour. The lieutenant nodded, and he and his Marines took another few steps forward. Cliff noted with some vague satisfaction that each Marine kept his combat rifle pointed squarely at him the entire time. _At least they know who their messing with_... "You're under arrest," the lieutenant said softly in greatly anti-climactic moment. He pulled free a pair of hand-cuffs.

"On what charges?" Cliff demanded.

"Don't play stupid," the lieutenant said disdainfully, the neutral expression on his face suddenly contorting with disgust. "You're under arrest for the assassination of President Ophelia Vectra."

**OOO**

Lancar sat in the pilot seat of the _Eagle II_, anxiously alternating between staring at the ship's chronometer and the side view port. From the angle that the _Eagle_ had been 'parked,' he could clearly see the entrance which connected to the hotel. It had been four minutes since Cliff had last contacted him, and Lancar was understandably becoming edgy.

After what seemed like an eternity (_four minutes, twenty three seconds, _Lancar noted absently) the double doors from the hotel finally moved. Relief poured through Lancar, and he was about to unbuckle himself and operate the _Eagle_'s hatch...

... only to freeze as he watched seven Federation Marines poured into the hangar (_four minutes thirty seconds_); after a moment's disorientation, all headed straight for the _Eagle_. In the next few moments, a sweaty Lancar shakily taxied the _Eagle_ towards the exit.

Within moments the Marines opened fire, the shells of their assault weapons bouncing harmlessly off the hull (_four minutes fifty seconds_). The _Eagle _finally launched – five minutes even. It would have been almost funny, if Lancar hadn't suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

**OOO**

Mirage stared at the blank communication console. Something was very wrong, and she was utterly powerless to do _anything _about it.

But she knew a few people who could...

**OOO**

As Maria walked onto the bridge, there was a scattering of applause from the various remaining crew members. She felt vaguely embarrassed – simply walking onto a bridge honestly shouldn't merit such praise, but... at the same time she felt the warmth behind the applause and felt grateful.

Fayt a half step behind her, she strode forward, taking position at the bow of the commander's platform, just ahead of the captain's chair. She wasn't quite sure how she had let Fayt talk her into this (a phrase that she was becoming more and more familiar with as the days passed, she noted with a touch of amusement), but her crew (_ex_-crew, she corrected herself) seemed pleased by it, and she figured that was all that mattered.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, let us get prepared to get underway." She plunked down into the captain's chair, as the skeleton bridge crew went to work preparing the ship. Maria would ceremonially oversee the _Diplo_'s final voyage back home to Klaus. 'Ceremonially,' because the final order to launch would come by comm. from Maria down on Expel; she and Fayt were transporting off right before the _Diplo_ took off... hence the carry-on duffle by Maria's left foot. The majority of their luggage had already been checked in with the transport they would take to Roak. But for the moment, Maria allowed herself to enjoy the simple pleasure of listening to her crew (_ex_-crew, she corrected once again) going to work.

After a few moments (with pre-flight checks nearing 60), Maria slowly stood up. Fayt shot her a questioning look; she nodded. He slung his bag onto his shoulder and began to march for the rear exit. Maria bent to grab her own duffle and was about to quietly follow him to the transporter room when—

"Captain!" Steeg shouted; the title rolled off his lips mostly out of habit. Maria frowned. _That wasn't part of the plan..._ She shot Fayt a confused look – had he planned a little something extra for her ceremonial good-bye? When he looked as lost as she did, she figured something was seriously wrong.

She dropped her duffel. "What is it?" she asked.

Steeg swiveled his chair back to face her. "Ah, it's... it's Mirage. On Klaus III. She sounds upset – something's happened."

Maria frowned. _It couldn't be her father, could it? The last time we spoke she told me he was finally starting to show some improvements..._ She hesitated only for a moment before dropping back down into the captain's chair. "Patch it through," she said quietly.

Mirage's image appeared on the forward screen – she appeared quite flushed. "Maria!" she called out immediately.

Maria's frowned deepened; she had rarely seen Mirage in a state like that. She seemed almost... panicked. "Mirage, what's wrong? Has something happened to your fath—"

"Maria, patch into news feed 17."

It took a good few seconds to grasp the unorthodox request. "Ah... er... Right – Lieber?"

"Got it, captain."

One of the _Diplo_'s secondary screens flashed to the indicated news channel. An image of the temporary congressional building – apparently the scene of a press conference – in downtown Clatos dominated the screen, with the banner headline 'Federation President Assassinated' lining the screen. "What...?" Maria asked rhetorically. She dimly noted the 'previously recorded' message in the top left corner.

"...and we are all saddened by her passing, especially in this, the Federation's hour of most dire need," said an impressive looking military man in full dress uniform. "But what I can say is that I and the entire Executive Committee will work to make sure that her vision of a better future for our Federation _will _come true."

The military man (_looks like a Federation Marine, judging by the uniform_, Maria thought to herself) was suddenly distracted by an aide, who quickly rushed forward to speak into his ear. The speaker nodded grimly, once, then straightened.

"And I am pleased to announce that the mastermind behind this dastardly attack has just been arrested. I give you my word, and the word of the Federation government, that Cliff Fittir _will_ be held responsible for this heinous act."

"_What_?" the entire bridge of the _Diplo _shouted as one.


	5. Four: Plans Deferred

Maria nodded as she seated herself at the head of the half empty conference room, her expression stern. It had been roughly two hours since Mirage's unexpected call, and galactic events were only continuing to spiral out of control. "Okay – what's the latest?"

Fayt's expression was serious. "Nothing good – about thirty minutes ago the remaining Executive Committee declared martial law in response to this 'attack.' If there's any good news, it's that their official line is stopping just short of blaming _all _of the Neutral Powers. So far its only been focused on this splinter terrorist cell they accuse Cliff of leading."

He suddenly looked profoundly weary. "But it isn't a very long trip, and with the way public sentiment is swaying..."

Maria's mouth was pressed into a grim line. "Not unexpected," she said slowly. "How's the media reacting?" she asked, looking towards Marietta.

"About as well as anyone would think," Marietta answered, cueing up a tablet and sliding it towards Maria. "Most of the major news outlets have agreed to the government's 'protective information control,' though it seems most of the high mucky-mucks at those outlets are doing so under protest."

As Maria looked over the data on the tablet, Marietta shrugged back into her seat. "Independent outlets are trying to defy the orders, but, unfortunately, they're lacking resources and actual information, so I don't think we're going to be getting anything useful from them, either."

"Anything from our more... unorthodox sources?" Maria asked, looking at Lieber and Steeg.

Steeg folded his arms. "Everyone – all our contacts and informants – are buzzing that the military is redeploying en mass..." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"...to seceding systems?" Maria asked finally, even though she knew the answer already. Steeg only nodded. Murmurs broke out around the table.

"And how are the separatists taking this?" Maria asked; again, she had a feeling where the answer was headed.

"Panic, followed by the grim determination that this is _it_: some planetary garrisons have already begun ignoring Federation orders, and rumors are already circulating that old planetary defenses and the like are being pulled out of mothballs." Fayt let out a weary sigh. "I still can't believe this is _happening_, that the Federation would—" he broke off.

"This is insane..." Fayt had seen a lot in the past year – including what some would consider 'god' – but, in all honesty, he had _never _thought he'd see the Federation on the very edge of a shooting war with itself.

"Steeg," Maria started, "give me the bottom line: if both sides start shooting, how's it going to end?"

Steeg screwed up his eyes. "Best case for the Federation?" he asked. "They succeed in crushing the separatist forces, but nearly kill their fleet doing so. They have maybe the equivalent of two battlegroups by the end of it, give or take a tug and a light cruiser."

He paused, looking uncomfortable. "Worse case?" He shook his head. "Well... that much is obvious..." He tapped a few keys, and the small terminals before each person at the table flashed to several complicated looking lists. "Judging by what we know of what's left of the Federation fleet, the reality is probably going to be somewhere in the middle... an eked out victory, but everybody's going to be far worse for wear."

"But then why..." Marietta blurted, sounding absolutely lost, "_why_ are they _doing_ this?"

"This is all insane..." Fayt repeated softly.

"They must feel like they have to, with the President dead..." Lieber said after a moment.

Maria frowned; something was off. "It doesn't make any sense," she said after a moment, her chin resting on her closed hand. "No – I _refuse _to accept that," she stated, her voice gaining volume. "The public and the media may be willing to swallow that Cliff and the Neutral Powers were behind this, but I _know _everyone here doesn't believe that for a _second_."

That seemed enough to snap Fayt out of his seeming trance. "You're... you're right." He frowned, his mind now free – for the time being – from the impending war. "The negotiations were going exactly how the secessionists wanted, until just recently." He paused for a second, then, "and even the recent troubles were only due to the Federation leaders suddenly shutting down negotiations."

"_Exactly_," Maria said, "there was _nothing_ to gain from the assassination, at least not from the secessionist point of view. The Federation was going to move heaven and earth to avoid _this_," she gestured off-handedly to the lists from Steeg's projections with her right hand, "very situation: give the entire thing a few more weeks or months, and they'd basically have everything they wanted – no secessionist would be _stupid _enough to derail that!"

"When you look at it like that, it almost seems... a little _too_ convenient," Marietta said uncomfortably.

"You mean that the same people that good, 'loyal' folks of the Federation have been groomed into seeing as the bad guys – the villains – in the secession issue just suddenly, without provocation or reason, attack and kill the Federation president?" Lieber wondered aloud. "Can you think of a more ready scapegoat to take the blame?"

Fayt folded his arms, shifting. "And even if any one else _is_ questioning the secessionist motives – which would be harder considering the constant propaganda the media networks and the government are putting out right now – that mass of 'average Federation citizens' is not going to believe a word they say. It's just too perfect..." he muttered.

"_Especially_ with guys like Schilling spouting all the right lines and striking just the right image of weary determination and gallant defense," Steeg muttered.

Maria frowned; where had she heard that name before? And something else, to go with it... ...something that Mirage had mentioned in passing a few days ago, but she couldn't... quite...

"Lieber, what do we know about the President's assassination?" she suddenly asked; familiar names and minor oddities would have to wait. "Do we have any details?"

Lieber looked abashed. "Honestly? Not many. The news networks were talking about some rudimentary details when martial law was declared, and they haven't even mentioned that much since then. In effect, the most anyone knows is that somewhere between the Ragnar and Roak systems, the presidential convoy was caught in an ambush and destroyed."

That was another suspicious item. It wouldn't have been unheard of for a hostile party to blunder onto a convoy, but it was highly improbable. And to wipe out a presidential convoy so _easily_... with none of the President's ships surviving...

_Surgical strike_, Maria's mind coolly assessed, _no witnesses left behind. For such complete success, which this _was _by all accounts, they'd need information... _She wouldn't say it aloud – _yet _– but suddenly suspicions were raised. _Traitor in the government? An insider, feeding information to the attackers? _

By then, it was clear to her that there was really only one action she could take. "...Can you get the president's last known coordinates out of some of our contacts?" Maria asked Steeg and Lieber. "The more we delve into this issue, the less sense this situation makes," she explained. "If we want to help Cliff – which I know we do – we need answers, and what's left of the presidential convoy seems to be the only place to find them right now."

But even as she explained her reasoning, Fayt shifted uncomfortably, and several faces around the table were clearly astonished. "Uh, Captain..." Marietta started, "but, what about your..." Her eyes flicked from Maria to Fayt and back again.

Maria's head bowed for a moment, and she felt a definite pang in her heart. _A few weeks alone in a transport cabin, some more time spent with his family, then points unknown after that, with nothing but each other and some duffels and what was left of the universe ahead... No duties, no responsibilities, nothing but... freedom..._

_Save such thoughts for later, when there'll be time for such things._

Maria was about to answer Marietta's question when Fayt spoke up for her. "It'll have to wait," he said seriously. "Cliff comes first. I mean, he rescued me when I needed it, and I think it's only fair to return the favor."

Fayt glanced down at the small screen inlaid in the table before him. "We've got no other leads on this issue, so this is our best bet." As he looked up, he caught a glance from Maria – the expression on her face was one of gratitude, respect, and affection.

It passed within seconds, and she was soon once again all business. "Lieber, Steeg, can you get the coordinates?"

The two exchanged a look. "It's going to take every favor and every contact we know, and even then..." Steeg started.

Lieber held a hand to his head, a pained expression on his face. "And even then it's going to be a nightmare! But..." The two exchanged another significant look. "I think we could do it," Lieber finished, as he and Steeg both turned their gazes back to Maria.

"Good – that's exactly what I wanted to hear. Are we all in agreement, then?" she asked. After a moment, she saw nods from around the table. "Okay – Lieber, Steeg, you know what to do." They nodded hurriedly. "Once you get the coordinates," she elaborated, "get them to Marietta."

Maria's attention shifted to the _Diplo_'s helmswoman. "Marietta, the second you get those coordinates, signal general quarters and set a course for the last known coordinates of President Vectra's convoy."

"Understood, ma'am!" Marietta chirped.

"Any questions?" Maria asked.

Steeg coughed lightly for recognition; Maria nodded in his direction. "Uh, pardon me, captain, but if this _is _as crooked as we seem to be thinking, then it stands to reason that those coordinates are going to be locked down. We might be looking at a Styx level quarantine... and if not of Federation ships, then some other faction. And, frankly, we're in no shape to deal with something like that..."

At this point, Maria's mouth quirked into a small smile. "You leave that part to me." Several around the table, including Steeg, looked mystified; Fayt seemed quietly amused. "Any other questions?" she prompted.

When no one spoke, she nodded, as if satisfied. "Good. Let's get to work."

**OOO**

A stinging sensation in his jaw was the first feeling that came back to Cliff. Some time after being taken in by the Federation Marines, the Rondo Lukian Cliff had tangled with had apparently let his emotions get the better of him and put all his considerable strength into cracking Cliff in the kisser with the butt of his rifle. The Marine wasn't very fast, but _damn _if he couldn't hit...

As he opened his eyes, it wasn't terribly surprising to Cliff that his wrists were solidly locked up in reinforced hand-cuffs... or that his feet were similarly bound to the hard cot he had been laid out on. The chain linking his ankles to the bed was surprisingly long: he could sit up and stand, though he couldn't go much farther than that.

For the first several hours, Cliff remained still on the bed, quietly observing the room his was being kept in and its environs. It was a basic Federation brig – eight by seven feet, a sink and toilet. The walls were bare (save for the track lighting embedded near the ceiling on each). A several inch thick set of acrylic glass bars and a gate on the front of the cell completed the set-up. Through the acrylic bars, he saw a dim corridor and a mirror-imgage (though empty) cell across the way.

As he explained to Fayt once upon a time, Cliff had been around the block once or twice. After noting no activity outside his cell for quite a while, Cliff shrugged, then settled into his cot, his arms behind his head.

_Whatever's gonna happen's gonna happen in good time. _In a surprisingly short time, he was soundly asleep.

**OOO**

A tone echoed through the _Diplo_'s corridors. "General quarters, repeat general quarters. Captain, please contact the bridge at your convenience."

Maria's eyes fluttered opened. "How long was I out?" she asked immediately.

"Just a few hours... nothing too bad," Fayt answered quickly, turning from the room's console.

Maria sat up from her sprawled position on the bed. A forgotten tablet lay on the covers beside her. She calmly brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. Fayt tapped a few keys on a pad near the console, and the room's lighting came up slightly.

Maria wiped the sleep from her eyes, then keyed her comm. "Marietta, report."

"Captain, Steeg and Lieber obtained the coordinates, and I've already set our course. I'm sending the coordinates to your tablet now." Maria automatically grabbed the tablet lying on the bed beside her. She glanced at it, then scooted forward and handed the tablet to Fayt. "Do you have any other orders, Captain?" Marietta continued.

"Not right now, Marietta."

"Will you be coming to the bridge?"

Maria paused, considering. "No," she answered finally. "Bring us to a full stop – and call me – when we're four light years out."

"Understood, Captain." Marietta closed the channel.

"Iota 367-991-428," Fayt read from the tablet, handing it back to Maria. He then turned to the console and called up a sector chart, quickly punching in the coordinates.

He whistled as the results popped up. "That'd be the place to spring an ambush."

Maria slid over to the edge of the bed, looking thoughtfully at the map. "Out in the middle of nowhere..." she said meditatively.

The two remained quiet, staring at the highlighted coordinates. Finally, Maria sighed. "Why'd you let me fall asleep like that?" she asked.

"You needed the rest," he answered noncommittally.

Silence again. Maria, unused to feeling unsure of herself, shifted uneasily. Her mind was already drifting back to the meeting. She had been so determined to see this thing through then, but... "Fayt... You... You know that I wanted..." She paused, frowning. "That I _wish_ things were..."

"I know," he said quickly, nodding. He glanced over at the nearly forgotten duffels, both parked on the far side of the room near the entrance. "This is the right thing to do," he finally responded, meeting her gaze.

"Besides," he continued, his tone shifting lighter, "I've already sent a message to Sophia and Mom about the delay, so it's not like we've got anything _better_ to do right now."

"Fayt..." Maria said quietly – _tenderly_ – a private (and sweet) smile gracing her lips.

Fayt wordlessly got out of his chair and took a seat next to Maria on the bed. "I just hope we find something to crack this whole mess open there," he worried aloud, slipping an arm around her.

Maria rested her head on his shoulder. "Me too."

**OOO**

There was a scraping noise; Cliff's heightened senses worked quickly to snap him to consciousness. Out of slitted eyes, Cliff spied a Federation guard opening a slat in the acrylic gate to send in a tray of food.

Cliff sat up, his cuffed hands resting in his lap. He closed his eyes. "Care to tell me where I am?" he asked the guard.

The guard's expression soured as he finished sliding in the tray of food. He closed the slat with an overly enthusiastic CLACK. "Federation Detention Center #313, Central Moore Facility," the guard responded flatly. "Probably too good for a murderous bastard like yourself, but..." The guard, his objective met, turned and started to leave.

He only got a few steps, however, before: "Oh. And I should mention..." the guard started, glancing back at Cliff, "be sure to finish up quick and make yourself presentable... You've got a visitor coming in a few hours." With that, the guard vanished down the corridor.

Sure enough, three hours later, Cliff discerned the sound of a distant door opening. "Is he here?" asked a voice, as it echoed down the corridor.

Cliff stirred again, cracked open an eye and scanned the area around him. He heard the click of boots marching down the corridor outside his cell. Judging by the number and the determined stride, Cliff figured that something important was about to happen. _Best make myself respectable_, he though jauntily. He slowly got to his feet, just as the incoming retinue came into view from his cell.

A Marine general stood at the head of a mixed group of two Federation prison guards and three Federation Marines. Cliff thought there was something altogether familiar about the general, but couldn't place it.

The general, for his part, maintained a glower as he stared at Cliff, his eyes catching on his distinctive green Klausian rings. "Open it," he commanded harshly.

The two prison guards in the general's party stiffened, one quickly turning to face him. "Ah, _sir_, we can't just—"

"I want in," the general replied evenly, "so, _open it_." It was quite clear that he was going to brook no argument. "_Now_."

That was the final nail in the coffin, especially considering that the Marines out numbered the two guards. The two prison officials exchanged looks, then the one who had spoken up quickly bent to open the cell. The acrylic door slowly slid to one side.

The three Federation Marines 'relocated' the two prison guards out of the way (further down the corridor), then fanned out in a loose semi-circle around open cell door. The general glanced at his men then, apparently satisfied with their preparation, nodded curtly and strode forward into the cell.

He came to a stop just in front of Cliff. He was about a half a foot shorter than Cliff, but nothing in his demeanor seemed to betray any intimidation. Cliff frowned down at him... until his eye caught the nametag on the general's uniform jacket. _Schilling...?_ Cliff's eyes widened involuntarily.

"Heh. So you _do _recognize the name." The general peered forward, as if inspecting each of Cliff's features. "I was afraid you had forgotten..." The general turned his head back to his waiting Marines. "He looks smaller than I always imagined," he said haughtily.

Cliff said nothing, rendered speechless by the (altogether unwelcome) intrusion from the past standing before him. Schilling turned back from his little side comment, a frosty little smile on his face. "Oh, where are my manners. I should introduce myself: my name is Claude Schilling, Jr., Brigadier General of the Federation Marine Corps, 932nd Division, Luna." The frosty smile skewed into a smirk. "Charmed, I'm sure."

_Junior..._ "So, your old man was..." Cliff started slowly.

Schilling nodded. "Oh yes," he said in agreement, "he was the man in charge of the _Invisible_. A ship, I'm sure, with which you were quite well acquainted." He turned away from Cliff, taking two short steps to look disdainfully down at the cell's floor. "After all, you did _destroy_ it, didn't you?"

Cliff's eyes narrowed; Schilling, with his back turned, didn't notice a thing. "I'm still not even entirely sure how you managed it," he continued, almost conversationally. "_Did _you use some sort of experimental weapon you stole from the Aldian Empire? Or were they outfitting you the entire time?"

_He doesn't know that Maria... _Cliff realized in surprise. _I guess he was never privy to the actual truth of what happened to the _Invisible"Maybe if your old man hadn't been trying to _murder _me and my crew, I wouldn't have had to fight back so hard." At no point did it cross Cliff's mind to betray Maria's name.

Suffice it to say, Schilling did not take this retort in the best fashion. He snapped back around, as if he was about to lunge at Cliff, but he stopped short. "My father was a hero," he said in a deadly serious voice, almost as if he was on the verge of losing his temper. "If he had succeeded, we all would have been _far _better off." Calm quickly returned to Schilling, and he smoothed his uniform jacket.

He looked Cliff over once more. "And here we are now. Just look at you: the unrepentant killer." Schilling closed the distance between them again, leaning forward. The two stood nose to nose, just shy of touching. "You know, I just thank my lucky stars that_ I_ was the one who finally got to bring you to heel like the _dog _you are." A flinty smile creased Schilling's face.

Cliff's face remained impassive. Schilling shrugged and turned away. "My, my," he started, "Judging by your attitude so far, I almost wouldn't be surprised if you actually _had _assassinated the president," he said almost flippantly as he turned and walked towards the cell's exit.

The bizarre conditions surrounding his arrest all suddenly snapped into place for Cliff. A suddenly flash of memory (President Vectra, across the table at the last of their dinner meetings) sped through his mind.

"You son of a bitch!" Surprised at his own anger, Cliff made up his mind in a split second and lunged forward, his muscles already straining to break the restraints binding him.

Cliff was endlessly surprised when Schilling's clenched fist began glowing red. His surprise only grew when Schilling spun with unnatural speed and rammed that fist into Cliff's stomach, landing a blow with enough force to send the stunned Cliff hurtling into the far wall.

Cliff woozily brought his gaze back up to Schilling. "And that, my poor, foolish friend, is the _new _power of the Federation," Schilling declared triumphantly as Cliff drifted to unconsciousness.


	6. Five: Interstellar Mystery

The Diplomatic Flagship _Diplo_ hung in space, four light-years from the coordinates Iota 367-991-428. The bridge was quiet, if a bit on edge; while everyone continued to diligently complete their assigned tasks, it was hard to miss how each would occasionally let their attention wander to the main screen of the _Diplo_, by then offering a beautiful view of the stars ahead.

The hatch to the bridge hissed open, and Fayt and Maria determinedly entered. "What's the situation?" she asked as she stepped on the bridge.

"Six Federation ships – one transport ship, two research explorers, two combat explorers, and one battleship – in a loose hexahedron around the coordinates we want," Lieber reported.

"All seem to be on passive long-range scan right now, but short-range is working overtime." Steeg looked back over his shoulder towards Maria. "If I had to guess, I'd say they don't want to attract attention to themselves, but at the same time don't want _anything _getting past 'em."

Maria strode forward and took her chair; Fayt, a half step behind, dropped into the seat Mirage had once upon time occupied. "Marietta, take us in at half sublight engines."

The bridge crew was understandably surprised. While they all trusted Maria, they still couldn't quite stop themselves from turning to stare at her in a dumbfounded manner.

She couldn't help but crack a small smile. "Fayt and I have been spending some time... _practicing_ our powers," she enlightened, "and with any luck that's exactly what's going to get us through this defense screen."

The bridge crew exchanged looks. Finally, Lieber coughed in a most uncomfortable manner. "So, er, are you gonna... _change _us into something else...?"

"It's not as if I can turn a... a pear into peaches..." she explained, using the first example that came to mind (even if it wasn't all that good), "But, if they aren't looking that close..." Her mouth flattened into a straight line, a look of intense concentration clear on her face. The entire scene seemed took a surreal twist as the blue glow of Maria's manifestation suffused the bridge. "Marietta, on my mark, cut engines." The mystified helmswoman nodded mutely.

In the local space around the _Diplo_, interstellar dust and debris suddenly started to ominously sift.

**OOO**

Captain Ivana Beize, of the GFAS 1237 _Le Grange_, shifted, looking bored. Her orders had been explicit – she was to take command of the patchwork and hastily scraped together 'battle' group (_Ha_, Beize reflected, _like I would want to take _this _pile of tugs into battle_) and partition off the coordinates Iota 367-991-428.

None of the members of her provisional command group were to cast their sensors towards those coordinates, nor approach within a half light year. The _Le Grange _task force was under orders to prevent _any _ship – private, press, or even other Federation – from doing the same. _And_, they were to remain in position until a Marine detachment of ships could relieve them.

With all this coming on the heels of President Vectra's assassination, it was hard _not _to draw a connection between the two... _especially _considering that Beize's orders were considered classified (sent directly to Beize from the Executive Committee). In fact, by all official accounts, the _Le Grange _and its group were actually on maneuvers around Federation holdings in Kappa Sector.

All these factors conspired to make Captain Beize highly uncomfortable. She could, in fact, be sitting upon the site of the most dramatic and important event in the Federation since the Executioner attacks themselves, and would never even know it...

A number of things could be said about Captain Beize, however, and one of them was that she was a good soldier. While it was her opinion that military brass probably couldn't managed to work itself out of a wet paper bag, her _opinion _was unimportant to the grand scheme of military life.

So, then, Captain Beize sat on her bridge, staring at nothing but the empty view of space on the main screen or the short-range sensor readings. It was during one of his sensor checks, in fact, that she noticed an oddity. "Hendricks," Beize started, frowning. "Are you picking up an unidentified object off 84209?"

Her sensor techie checked his scanners once more for the indicated coordinates. "Yes, Captain; we picked that up a few minutes ago."

Now, Beize knew her crew well enough to know that they would have informed her if it was at all suspicious. Still, though, she had nothing better to do at the moment... "Hmm... What do we have on it so far?"

"Errant celestial body, probably from that asteroid belt a few light-years away. Not even all that interesting as far celestial bodies go – looks to be chiefly ice and rock, a little over a kilometer and a half in length."

Beize drummed her fingers on her armrest. "Is it on a course to intercept the target coordinates?"

"No, ma'am," Hendricks answered quickly. "It'll pass through our cordoned area, but should miss those specific coordinates by a wide margin."

In that case, Beize had no real reason to pay any more attention to it; as far as she was concerned, it could go on its merry way into the depths of space. Still though... On a whim she said, "Bring it up on the main screen."

Beize watched Hendricks carefully as he set out to do just that; as near as she could tell, if Hendricks thought the order odd, he didn't show it (secretly, in fact, just the opposite was true: he was glad for the diversion). A few seconds later and a close up of the comet in question appeared on the main screen. It honestly _wasn't _the most interesting thing to look at, as Hendricks had mentioned. The few patches of ice weren't even putting up much of a tail...

She did a double take. _Something _about the errant comet was bothering her, but... Beize felt a tingle... It might be nothing, but... "Can you run a mineralogical scan?"

Hendricks nodded in assent, then bent to work. After a few moments of quiet keystrokes... "Prelim results show chiefly iron, with traces of copper, zinc, carbon, and, of course," he said, nodding to the ice, "good ol' H20." He turned back to his captain. "Continue the scan, ma'am?"

Beize considered. _Well, _she finally decided, _it sounds perfectly normal enough... _Her face quirked into a small smile. _But really, what was I expecting? _She finally shook her head. "No, that'll be fine. Carry on." Satisfied, Beize settled back into her command chair as the _Le Grange _resumed its outward monitoring.

**OOO**

Had Captain Beize pushed the scan just a bit farther, she would have found that the comet was actually quite hollow, with a certain diplomatic flagship in the center. Maria, beads of sweat on her forehead, grit her teeth as she continued to keep the charade up. "Marietta, the second we're a fourth of a light-year inside the partition, resume our advance, at a quarter sublight engines." Maria let a whoosh of air.

"Maria, how much longer are you going to keep this up?" Fayt asked, worry clear in his voice.

"Just... Just a bit longer, just to keep on the safe side," she answered, trying to sound reassuring despite the immense strain she felt.

The comet _Diplo_ continued its advance.

**OOO**

As the _Diplo_ neared the coordinates, the comet shell that had protected it from Federation sensors slowly dissolved in a haze of bluish light. Maria dropped back into her seat with a heavy sigh. "Okay... Get to work, people. I want to know just what we're looking at here."

Fifteen minutes later, the initial reports were filing in. "Three debris fields," Lieber started, bringing the findings up on the _Diplo_'s main screen, "all within a few light-years of one another. From our initial analysis, one appears to be the ruins of a Federation combat explorer, destroyed in a creation engine overload... probably caused by severe structural damage."

Lieber scanned his console and keyed something in, changing the focus of the main screen. "The second seems to be the site of two ships, one Federation, one... _not_. The second ship doesn't seem to be in our databases... It looks like one rammed the other and they both went up."

"And the last..." Lieber hesitated a second before zooming in on the last wreck. "The last looks to be the remains of a battleship... Judging from what's left of the vessel, and its position at the center of our special coordinates... I'd say we found what's left of _Federation One_." Lieber looked distinctly uncomfortable.

A slightly wan looking Maria nodded. "Marietta, take us in closer."

Ruined chunks of carbonic neotide bouncing harmlessly off the hull, the bridge was silent as the _Diplo _quietly pulled up alongside the battered remains of _Federation One_. As a ship pulled to a stop, Maria, despite her clear fatigue, pulled herself up straighter in her seat. "All right. Lieber, I want a full scan and work-up of the ship – damage assessment takes priority: I want to know what killed her. Steeg, I want the same for the unidentified ship we passed, but see if you can't find some identifying markers – we need to know _who _exactly—"

"Ma'am, I'm picking something odd on our forwards sensors," Lieber interrupted suddenly, his hands suddenly a blur on his console.

Maria frowned. "What is it?"

"I... I'm not quite sure yet, Captain," Lieber admitted distractedly, as he worked on his phantom signal. "It might be a signal, but it's weak... and... it's nothing_ I've _ever seen before... it's not subspace or direct laser communications..."

Marietta keyed up her console. "Lieber, can you let me see that over here?" Lieber glanced over his shoulder at Marietta and nodded, sending the signal over to Marietta's terminal. She stared at if for a long minute, then keyed something quickly. "Old, low band radio," she murmured, almost to himself. To the rest of the crew, aloud, she explained, "used to be a hobby of my old roommate in college – she used to tinker in low band, old tech stuff like this; engineers have the strangest hobbies," she added distractedly.

After a few more seconds, the mysterious signal resolved itself over the bridge's main speakers. "...vor... ...eration One... sneak... ...stance..."

Marietta shook her head. "Then it just repeats..." She turned to Maria. "This is shortwave stuff... I'd guess they just put it together with whatever they had at hand. If we can find the source of the signal, we might be able to boost the signal quality..." she trailed off.

Maria nodded, turning back to the main screen. "Lieber, temporary change of plans – scan for anything that might be the source of the signal."

There were a few tense minutes on the bridge, but Lieber suddenly gasped and turned back to Maria. "Ma'am!" he said, suddenly excited.

"Did you find it?"

"Yes... and something else. _Lifesigns_! They're weak, but they're definitely there!"

"I guess we found out what they were trying to say," Maria mused, just as shocked as the rest of the bridge. "Are they on the bridge?" she asked.

"Uh... no, I don't think so," Lieber said, though his tone was unsure as he turned back to his scanners.

"I'm picking up no life signs on the bridge," Steeg confirmed. He peered closer at his display. "It looks like those lifesigns are clustered together not_ far_ from the bridge, but..."

"Why haven't any of the other ships detected any of this?" Maria asked suddenly.

"It looks like... It looks like what's left of the creation engine created a weak distortion field – if anyone were _really_ looking, like we were, they would have seen right through it, but otherwise..." Steeg answered.

"Curious and curiouser..." Maria said quietly. She drummed her fingers on the arm rest of her chair. "Does it seem to anyone else that they might have chosen_ not_ to look for survivors...?"

"I'm starting to get a better picture, ma'am," Lieber broke in, as everyone pondered the implications of Maria's statement. He shook his head. "The environmental systems must have failed," Lieber said grimly, "because oxygen in what's left of that compartment is nearly to fatal levels..." He turned back to face Maria's chair. "We're going to have to wait for answers, because I don't think we're going to get anyone _conscious _from there..."

Maria nodded, making her decision in a split second. "Lieber, transport the survivors from that compartment directly to medical." Lieber nodded and turned to get to work. "Steeg, scrape together something resembling a security detail. I doubt we have much to fear, but just in case, I want to be prepared." Steeg, as acting security chief for the _Diplo_ in Lancar's absence, nodded, signed off his console, and hurried from the bridge.

As the bridge descended into a low hum of activity, Maria leaned over to Fayt. "If we're lucky," she said quietly, "we might just have found what we need."

**OOO**

"What do we have?" Maria asked, briskly strolling into medical.

Though Maria had addressed him, Steeg – standing at the door with a phase rifle slung on his shoulder – looked to Quark's resident doctor, differing to her. "Dr. Tax?" he prompted.

The doctor coughed lightly. "Five survivors," she started, in clipped tones, "two humans, one tetrageniot, and one felinefolk – probably an Expellian."

The doctor indicated the room's two medical beds. "The humans and the felinefolk were all federation officers. We've bedded the two lower ranking officers in some of the empty personnel quarters—" a pause, as the doctor glared at Maria; there had been many an argument between the two over expanding the _Diplo_'s cramped medical facilities, most of which the doctor had lost, "—and the highest ranking officer is here."

Maria peered at the officer. Judging by the insignia on the collar, she was a lieutenant commander – possibly even the ship's XO. The doctor continued, "She's suffered some smoke inhalation, in addition to a full gambit of bumps and cuts, but at least," Tax, reading from the patient's chart, "Lieutenant Commander Maddox, here, should be fine with a few weeks of rest."

The doctor tapped her foot, an almost perplexed look on her face. "And then, we have our tetrageniot..." Dr. Tax moved over to the second medical bed, staring down at the wounded woman. "No uniform... and no ID on her either."

Maria folded her arms; that _was _unusual. "What are her injuries?"

The doctor shifted. "Compound fracture to the left leg and right wrist, light burns on the right leg, possible blindness in two of her eyes, and severe cuts and bruises all over." She pointed down at some hastily and altogether battered bandages. "As you can see, some of the survivors apparently maintained consciousness long enough to try and dress her wounds. A pair of crude splints, several bandages, especially protecting her eyes..."

The two remained quiet, looking down at the battered woman. "She might be part of the President's staff..." Maria thought out loud. "I'd like to talk to her as soon as possible." Maria glanced back at the wounded lieutenant commander. "All of them, if possible."

Dr. Tax's thin face soured. "Captain, with all due respect, both these woman have been through hell – it's a miracle they've even survived this long!"

Maria held up her hand. "I realize that, and I'm not asking you to risk their health to—" Maria's comm. suddenly started beeping. Maria shot an apologetic look to the doctor (which was wasted), then answered. "This is Maria."

"Captain," came Marietta's voice, "we've got a... situation brewing up here."

Maria turned her head away from the comm. for a moment and sighed. "I'll be on my way in a moment, Marietta." Maria turned back to the doctor. "We'll finish this discussion later." Tax spread her arms and shrugged, in a gesture of mock agreement.

Maria rolled her eyes (though she did so more out of amusement than actual annoyance). She turned and nodded to Steeg, and the two rushed out of the medical bay, one of Steeg's security detail taking his place next to the door.

As Maria returned to the bridge, nearly every eye was on the main screen. "Captain," Lieber reported, "we've got unidentified ships coming into range of our sensors." An edge of panic had begun to slip into his tone.

"Have the Federation vessels noticed it yet?" Maria asked.

"They haven't moved at all, ma'am, so it's hard to tell..." Lieber frowned. "Wait, no, Federation ships are reacting..." Lieber's fingers flew and his eyes scanned over the new sensor reports. "It looks like the battleship from the Federation task force has left formation, and the remaining ships are compensating for the gap."

"Is the battleship headed for the new comers?" Fayt asked.

"Yes, it looks that way," Lieber answered.

"Have they raised shields?" Maria asked immediately.

Lieber looked back over his shoulder; his expression was serious. "Not yet."

"Positive identification on the ships, ma'am," Steeg broke in. "Federation database has marked them as military craft from Rezerb." He shifted uncomfortably, wrestling with the bulky phase rifle still strapped to his back.

This announcement left the entire bridge crew understandably mystified. Fayt and Maria exchanged looks. "Lieber, how far are we on those scans?" she asked quickly.

"Uh..." he stammered, clearly unprepared for the question. He quickly swapped the open programs on his terminal. "We've... we've got damage assessment completed for _Federation One_," he finally reported, "and some workups on the unidentified ship, but..." He coughed lightly. "It's going to take another hour or so for everything..."

Maria's lips pressed into a thin line. "We might not have that..." she murmured quietly. "Marietta, get ready an escape course. If things go sour, I want us to be prepared."

Marietta nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"What do you think?" Fayt asked. "Is our cover blown? Or are they going to start shooting at each other?"

Maria shook her head. "Honestly? I'm not sure; it could be either one. To that end..." She leaned forward. "Lieber, Steeg, I want all non-essential systems powered down for the time being. Keep short-range scanners going, but everything else that won't kill us... take 'em down for now."

Fayt nodded as the brothers got to work. "Right... That'll shrink our signature and make us harder to detect."

"And if we're lucky," Maria started, "we won't—"

"Uh, er, Captain," Steeg interrupted, a horrified look on his face, "Uh... This is going to sound crazy... but..." he paused, and very clearly tried to calm himself down. "Ma'am, the Rezerb ships... They're registering as the same material composition and warp signature as the mystery ship in the debris field."

Half the bridge gasped; even Maria's usually calm and cool continence broke for a moment. "Are you saying...?" she asked, startled.

"...that _Rezerb_ was responsible for the death of President Vectra?" Fayt finished. He exchanged a look with Maria; the entire situation had just turned more volatile.

**OOO**

In his private office in the capital city of Rezerb, Sergeant Brooklund folded his arms, leaning back in his over-stuffed chair. "How are the preparations going?" he asked quietly as he puffed upon his antique pipe.

One of his two aides suddenly sifted through a stack of paperwork. "...It appears that all three fleets are ready," the aide answered. "And all our commanders have been fully briefed on the battle plans sent by the Federation." He looked up from his papers. "We are prepared to coordinate once our joint strike begins."

Brooklund nodded slowly. "And the _Ezekiah_s?"

It had been a risk, devoting so much of his military budget to the development of the _Ezekiah_ class ships. But! But the rewards had been far more than he could have ever hoped. A ship wedding the maneuverability and speed of a typical corsair with the sheer firepower of a Federation-styled battleship! Yes, they were expensive (thus only three produced so far) but the _power_ they represented...!

"Both the remaining _Ezekiahs_ are ready – the _Razor Wing_ has been refueled and rearmed following its... _shakedown_ run. Your personal ship, of course, remains more than ready, your Excellency."

Brooklund blew out a long column of smoke. "It _is_ too bad that we lost the _Blade Hawk_ doing that unfortunate..." he paused, searching for the proper word, "_favor_, for General Schilling. Still, though, I'd imagine our ships of the line and our pair of _Ezekiahs_ will provide more than enough of a bang for our little... _surprise_ for the Federation."

Brooklund erupted into a malicious smile as he swung his feet up onto his desk. "After all, as the Terrans would say... 'Survival of the fittest.'"


	7. Six: Optimism

A tone echoed through the halls of the GFAS _Le Grange_. "Captain Beize, Captain Beize, please contact the bridge immediately."

Ivana Beize scowled briefly, primly wiping her mouth with her napkin before dropping it to the table. She slipped into an easy smile. "If you'll excuse me for a minute, gentlemen," she said to her guests. The two men she addressed said nothing; of the two, the leader nodded.

Doing her best to ignore the frosty attitude from her guests (a feeling that had become quite common throughout the meal) Beize exited the state dining room. Once certain the door had slid shut behind her, she keyed her comm. "Beize here. What's the problem?"

"Captain," her executive officer started, "we... ah..." He trailed off uncomfortably.

Beize scowled again. "_Morrison_," she commanded firmly.

"Ma'am," her XO started again, "the _Granite_ just reported detecting a gravitic warp signature exiting our partition zone."

"_What_!?" Beize demanded.

In a detached part of her mind, Beize could almost imagine Morrison cringing on the bridge. "I—I—I don't know, ma'am!"

Beize cursed under her breath, and took a moment to try and calm down, even as her mind raced with possibilities. _Could they have been waiting _inside _the entire time? Or... somehow managed to get past us...? _She immediately thought back to that bizarre comet... _No point in pointing fingers now, even if I _did _screw up_, she thought, finding a trace of absurd humor in the entire situation.

"Do we have their last known course?" she asked finally.

Morrison paused, probably checking on just that. After a moment, "Uh... Yes, Captain," he answered. "Would you like to send a ship after it?" he asked belatedly.

Beize considered for several long moments. "No..." she decided finally. "We're shorthanded here already... Send an advisory to FleetCom, along with the coordinates."

"Understood, Captain," Morrison answered before cutting the connection.

Beize remained in the hall a moment more. _I guess I'd be more concerned with how FleetCom will react to this news if I knew what the _hell _they were thinking lately._ She folded her arms, shaking her head. "Random classified missions, military deployments against allies, and we mustn't forget our new _friends_..." She glanced out a nearby view port. "Just what the hell are they thinking lately...?"

As she returned to the dining room, however, she allowed none of those thoughts to show on her face. "Now, gentlemen," she started, as she sat down (straightening her white dress uniform as she did), "you were telling me about Rezerbian wines?"

**OOO**

"We're clear, Captain," Marietta stated.

Maria nodded briskly. "Excellent. Any signs of pursuit?"

"No, Ma'am," the helmswoman answered. "And I don't think they got much of an ID on us either."

"Probably weren't expecting a ship from_ that _direction..." Fayt added, the ghost of a smile on his face.

That cheery expression faded as he glanced over at Maria. "Maria?" Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow. "_Maria_?" he asked, sharper.

"Marietta, get us back to Expel as fast as you can. Once we're there, keep us in orbit with a low profile, and wait for further instruction," Maria said abruptly, ignoring Fayt completely.

Without waiting for response, Maria shakily got to her feet. "Steeg, try to get what data we could collect analyzed properly. Lieber, you have the bridge." With that, Maria unceremoniously marched towards the rear hatch.

This, of course, perturbed Fayt to no end. He gawked as the hatch slid shut. "Ma—" He found himself on his feet in seconds and he rushed after her. "Hey, Maria—!"

It took his eyes a moment to readjust to the darkness of the corridor. He took two tentative steps before spotting Maria again... ...leaning heavily against the wall and gripping the hand rail with white knuckles.

"Maria!" Fayt rushed to her, doing his best to support her.

At first, she feebly attempted to ward off his help, until she realized who it was. Her struggling ceased and she fell heavily into his arms. "Even with... all our practice..." she murmured, looking flushed, "still can't quite..." Her laments came between thin pants.

"Oh... Maria..." He slung one of her arms around his neck. "Come on..."

As they struggled down the hall together, Maria almost drunkenly looked over at Fayt. "You'd... better not try... to take advantage of me... in this state..." she warned weakly.

Fayt, bolstered by this surprising display of humor, grinned. "Oh, come on. You'd probably _still _beat me up."

"You're damn right... mister..." The two continued down the corridor.

**OOO**

Lancar nervously checked his scanners once again. He had pulled into Expel orbit nearly a day ago, hoping to meet up with the _Diplo_. According to Mirage, they were due back soon. _The sooner the better_, he thought, feeling agitated. _I'm not sure how much longer Expel Space-Traffic Control will buy my cover story..._

After another hour or so of fruitless watching the skies above Expel, Lancar shook his head and tromped away from his console, rubbing his neck tiredly. _It feels like they're never going to come back and_—

The gods of irony _must _have been listening in on Lancar, because just as the bridge hatch slid open, his console started beeping wildly. He paused for a second, staring at the console, his brain not immediately making the connection. He then lunged for his seat, his fatigue forgotten.

"_Diplo_, this is _Eagle II_. Repeat, this is _Eagle II_."

The comm. crackled for several long moments, when finally... "Lancar!?" asked a relieved Marietta.

Lancar sighed with relief, sagging back into chair. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice." His fingers very nearly flew across his console – euphoria apparently makes for fine typists. "Hold on – I'm closing in to your coordinates.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Marietta gushed, "We were all worried that you had been captured along with Cliff!"

That reminder quickly sobered his mood. "It was a close thing... I..." He took a deep breath. "I didn't want to leave him like that..."

The comm. was silent. Marietta took a breath, as if to say something, when suddenly... "Hey, is that Lancar!" shouted a voice from the background. A few seconds later (as the voice got closer to Marietta and her console): "Lancar! Is that you!"

"Steeg?"

Steeg momentarily turned away from the console, his voice a hint quieter over the comm. "Hey! Hey, Lieber! Come over here! Lancar just got back!"

"Hey, Lancar, you okay?" Lieber shouted as he ambled up.

"Yeah..." Lancar started, "Yeah, looks like they couldn't put me down this time."

"That's good news," Lieber started. "It'll be good to have you back on duty – I think that Steeg's getting tired of hauling that phase rifle around everywhere!"

"It wouldn't be so bad," Steeg defended automatically, "if I still didn't have to clean up all the messes _you _make of the duties you took over from me, _Lieber_."

And then a strange thing happened. For the first time since Cliff had been captured, Lancar burst into laughter.

About fifteen minutes later, Lieber beamed aboard the _Diplo_. He was quickly thereafter smothered in a hug from Marietta, and hearty claps on the back from as much of the Quark staff as could fit in the cramped transporter room.

Lancar did, however, notice a missing face in the crowd. "And the captain?" he asked.

"She's... uh..." Lieber scratched at the back of his head sheepishly. "She's... _resting_, for now."

At Lancar's perplexed expression, Steeg clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah... We've got a lot of catching up to do..."

**OOO**

Maria groaned and opened her eyes. "Fayt...?" she asked weakly from her partially curled position on the bed.

Fayt looked up from the room's console, quickly crossed over to the bed, and sat on the edge. "Hey," answered quietly. His eyes spoke of concern, and he gently brushed a lock of Maria's hair from her face. "You had me worried," he stated, his hand lingering along the side of her cheek.

Maria propped herself up on an elbow, then pushed back and leaned against the bed's headboard. She glanced down at herself. Fayt had stripped off her bulkier outer gear, leaving her in her black dress and leggings. He had even managed to work off her boots. As she rested her elbows on bent knees, she waggled her toes appreciatively.

"Oh," Fayt exclaimed suddenly, his expression pleased, "I just grabbed this a few minutes ago." He reached over to the nightstand, then triumphantly held out a tall looking sports bottle to her, topped by a silly looking red straw. "Here, drink up. It always used to help when one of the guys on my team... pushed themselves a bit too hard."

Maria noted the gentle gibe, but decided to feign ignorance. Instead, "Is the straw strictly necessary?" she asked as dubiously she took a sip.

"No," he answered easily, "but you have to admit, everyone likes crazy straws."

She shook her head in exasperation, as always her slight 'Fayt's remarkable silly but oh-so-amusing' smile on her face. For the moment, the two forgot about the altogether too serious events erupting across the galaxy...

Maria put the sports drink down, her face quickly turning serious. "Where are we?"

He glanced over at the display. "We reached Expel about an hour and a half ago." He turned back to her. "And we picked up Lancar and the _Eagle_ almost immediately after we arrived."

"Why didn't any one wake me up then?" Fayt gave her a reproachful look. "Right," she said quietly. "Silly question." She decided to shift topics. "Has there been any change in our patients in the medbay?" she asked.

"I haven't checked," he answered quickly.

Maria nodded, then keyed the bedside comm. "Dr. Tax, this is Maria. How are our patients doing?"

"Interesting timing, Captain," the doctor responded. "Our mystery patient came to just a few minutes ago, and she's been demanding to speak to the person in charge ever since."

Maria's mind was made up in a second. "I'm on my way," she answered, ignoring Fayt's concerned/reproachful look. "Maria out."

"Are you sure you're feeling well enough to be doing all this?" he asked immediately.

"Honestly?" she asked, sitting up and swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, "No. But that's going to have to do for now." She shrugged into her short white coat.

Fayt's expression made it clear he wanted to fight her on the issue, but something in her determined expression must have made him hold off. "Fine," he declared in defeat. "In that case, I'll head down and talk to Lancar. If I can," he said over his shoulder as he stood before the cabin hatch, "I'll see if I can't do some checking on the latest news while I'm at it..."

Maria nodded, belting on her 'skirt' and gun belt.

As Fayt exited their quarters, Maria glanced at the bulky ceramic chest guard that usually completed her outfit... It was then when she felt a different sort of profound weariness, that same urge to just leave it all for someone else to handle...

_Except there _is _no one else. _She firmly and determinedly latched the plate into place.

**OOO**

"Ah, Captain," the Dr. Tax said, "Excellent timing." She nodded over her shoulder to the tetrageniot farther back in the medical bay. "I haven't been able to calm her down since she woke up."

Maria nodded grimly. She strode past the doctor, pulling up to the mystery patient, who was staring up at the ceiling. Her gaze wandered over to Maria.

"My name is Maria Traydor," Maria began, "and I'm—"

That was apparently been enough for the woman. From almost the second Maria had started speaking, recognition was clear on the patient's face. "_Schilling_!" she bawled out, clutching onto Maria's lapel. "You... have to... _stop_... him..."

"What about him?" Maria asked, locking eyes with the frantic tetrageniot.

"Captain, please," started the medic, trying to wrestle the patient back down to the bed. "This is not healthy for my patient – she needs a sedative before shock can—!"

"Just a minute!" Maria snapped, leaning forward toward the mystery woman's face. Recognition finally registered in Maria's mind and her eyes widened. Under all that dirt, sweat, and those hastily applied bandages...

"He's trying... to control... the Federation... stage a coup, or..." Ophelia Vectra struggled, fighting to get out each and every word. "Contact... Eleanor or... Congress... _ stop _him—" Her arm suddenly spasmed and she lost her grip on Maria's lapel.

It was enough for Tax to get in between the two. "That's enough," the she said sternly, quickly using a hypospray to sedate the president, while gently but firmly pushing Maria back with a hand. "This woman has been through a lot... It's a miracle she or any of the crew managed to survive."

Maria felt hollow. "You have no idea, doctor..." she said slowly. Her mind was already reeling, both from the implications of the patient lying prone before her, and her message...

"Doctor, take good care of her." The doctor was about to sourly remind Maria that she _always_ took good care of her patients, but before she could launch into her tirade, Maria was already rushing from the room.

**OOO**

"I think the pieces are starting to fall in place... Especially in light of this." Maria tapped a few keys, and suddenly the small screens at each station around the conference table lit up with another news conference.

"Breakthrough in foreign affairs," Maria said slowly as the news clip silently played. "Rezerb has declared that it's shunning terrorist actions and is discussing military drawbacks. As a result, for the first time in decades the Federation has reopened diplomatic relations, including talk of a mutual defense pact..."

"This can't be a coincidence," Fayt said slowly, "considering the Federation's new _allies_ just attempted to kill the president..."

"That would explain a few things," Steeg started. He glanced back towards Maria, while keying something into his station. "From the data we've collected, we figure that the first ship that attacked _Federation One _and her convoy managed to slip in close – bypassing _all _their sensors – and open fire without alerting any of them."

He turned back to the main screen, which replayed the hastily reconstructed chain of events on a tactical plot. "The only way the assaulting ships could managed such a feat was if someone had provided them with each of the ships' schematics and detailed operations plans, including," Steeg finished, "frequency codes for sensors and active shields."

"With that sort of information," Lieber added, "they could have made themselves completely invisible to the convoy's sensors... They never stood a chance."

"Have your new allies do the dirty work with nearly undetectable ships, blame someone else, and get everything you want..." Maria said tiredly, leaning back in her chair. "In all honesty, I wouldn't be too surprised if Schilling is behind the sudden change in attitude of the long missing Executive Council..." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "_Or _if he was the one behind their hasty banishment from the public eye, for that matter. Either way, according to Mirage, Schilling's no friend to the Neutral Powers."

"But why Cliff?" Marietta asked suddenly. "Couldn't they have just framed one of the Neutral Power leaders instead?"

Maria's gazed suddenly turned downcast. "I'm afraid that's my fault. As Mirage reminded me... It was General Schilling's father in command of the _Invisible_..."

That was a name quite familiar to the members (former or not) of Quark; the room descended into wild chatter. Under it, Fayt sighed. "Seizing control of the Federation, trying to kill the president for power, plotting to instigate a war with the secessionists, _and _revenge..." Fayt shook his head. "Christ, the man's a raving lunatic."

When Fayt looked up again, his eyes seemed cold and determined. "We have to put a stop to this," he declared flatly.

Maria drummed her fingers on the armrest of her chair – a habit that was occurring with more and more frequency as the stakes grew higher and higher. "We have the president, and the medical bay has recordings of her accusations of Schilling... We've also got the sensor readings from the wreckage site."

"In other words," Fayt started, still grim but now wearing an optimistic smile, "we've got everything we need."

"Marietta, set a course for Roak – we'll send the evidence to every member of the Congress we can find, blow Schilling out of the sky, and get Cliff back all in one fell swoop."

There was perhaps never an order Marietta was happier to obey. "Yes, ma'am!"

As the senior crew filed out of the conference room, Maria breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair. "With any luck," she started, "in three short days, we'll be in Roakspace, and this will all be over."

Fayt said nothing, and simply grabbed her hand.

**OOO**

A little over one full day later, Sergeant Brooklund interlaced his fingers as he looked out across the bridge of his ship – the name of which translated loosely to the _Line Raptor_. "What is our status?" he asked.

"Taskforce B has met with Federation Fleet 13 in Alpha Sector, and are preparing to enter the Drummox and Kite Systems in several short hours. Taskforce C has joined Federation Fleet 7 in Gamma Sector and are even now entering the Qurial System." The officer speaking nodded to the Sergeant. "And, of course, in just under an hour, our Taskforce A will rendezvous with Federation Fleet 5 the edge of the Leruz System."

Brooklund nodded, amused. "And my... 'special' orders have been sent to each Taskforce, yes?"

The bridge officer nodded. "Yes, sir."

Brooklund broke into a smile. "Then this time tomorrow, it'll finally begin..."


	8. Seven: Crisis of Choice

Fayt woke up disoriented. He ran a hand over his face – the stress of trying to prevent a civil war from erupting and revealing the conspiracy behind it all was enough to take a toll on anyone. He vaguely wished that he could just go back to bed until the entire mess had been resolved... just another... few minutes... and then he'd...

_Get up_, a voice in the back of his mind – sounding suspiciously like his mother – commanded.

Never one to disobey his mother, Fayt sighed, sat up, and kicked his feet over the side of the bed, realizing rather belatedly that Maria was no where in sight. He rubbed his eyes again. _I hope she brings breakfast back_, he thought tiredly as he rose to get dressed.

Just as he was shrugging into his shirt, the cabin's door slid open. "Ah, there you are, Maria," he started. "You didn't happen to bring a muffin or anything back with you, did you? I was just thinking about—"

It only took Fayt one look at Maria's face to realize that she had brought _something _with her, and it was definitely _not_ breakfast. "What's wrong?" he asked instantly.

Maria took a step forward, the hatch closing behind her. "The latest news..." she said dully, holding up a tablet.

Her face ashen, she cleared her throat. "Vice-President Logan and the rest of the Executive Committee were reportedly killed earlier today," she started, reading quietly from the tablet. "...during an attack on the convoy which was ferrying them back to Roak from Moonbase – an attack that Schilling claims was not made by a terrorist group, but the Neutral Powers themselves, as a declaration of their sovereignty."

She stopped reading and took a deep breath. "As the only member of the Joint Chiefs still alive," she continued, "the Congress has voted him temporary power over the entire Federation to engage and destroy forces hostile to the Federation..."

"What!?" Fayt nearly cried out. _No, no, no, no...!_

"At 0300 Federation standard time, the first elements of a Federation police force, bolstered by multiple ships from the Federation's new military ally Rezerb, entered the Qurial system in Gamma sector and encountered..." she broke off unable to continue.

_We didn't make it in time..._ He suddenly felt like he was going to vomit. He sank heavily into a chair.

Maria was silent for a long moment. "Marietta tells me we're still about a half day out from Roak..."

When Fayt didn't respond, she glanced over at him. His hand was clenched into a fist. He met her gaze, and she was shocked to find that his eyes were like ice. "I'm going to stop him," he declared quietly. He stood up and marched out of the room.

"Fayt?" Maria asked after his rapidly shrinking form, before chasing after him into the corridor.

**OOO**

"What is the position of the _allied_ Federation fleet?" Sergeant Brooklund asked, enjoying the delicious irony on the stressed word.

A Rezerb officer just below Brooklund waved a hand. "We are go, General; the Pangalactic Federation Fleet has entered the envelop you designated." The bridge officer checked a secondary screen. "Both Taskforces B and C have reported they are also in position."

Brooklund smiled, suddenly all teeth. "That's _Earth _Federation, Corporal. Not that it'll matter soon." He languidly waved a hand forward. "Transmit the message to all ships and the other taskforces as well – advance on their blind spots."

Brooklund's smile expanded exponentially as elation over took him. "Gentlemen," he said quietly, addressing the _Line Raptor_'s bridge, "let us all take a moment to savor what we are about to accomplish. With this act, the days of Federation hegemony in the galaxy are _over_."

The first torpedoes were away...

**OOO**

Maria caught up to Fayt just inside the _Diplo_'s small armory... but he wasn't looking at the wide array of phase rifles stacked along the wall. Instead, he was already plugging away at the keypad of a certain locker. "What are you doing?" she demanded, even though it was rather obvious.

"It's the only way," Fayt said flatly. The combination he entered was accepted, and the locker opened with a hiss. Inside was a collection of many of the weapons and retro-styled armor which had defeated the Creator.

"We can still—" Maria began to protest.

"'We can still' what, Maria?" Fayt challenged. "With Schilling's new position of grand military poobah, we have no idea if our plan will even_ work_." He dragged out his old sword and its belt, and began to reach for his old armor. "If he's gotten_ this _far, how can we be sure that there's anyone left who isn't loyal to him!? We can still _try_, but at this stage we _have _to do something fast, and, if necessary, drastic."

Maria quickly saw where he was going with this. "Are you mad!?" she fired back. "Schilling's ensconced in Moonbase... you know, the place where he's commanding all of the Federation's fighting men, _and _which I have no doubt is swarming with battleships and Marines loyal _to_ _him_!"

"We don't have a choice, Maria!" Fayt argued irritably, his tone rising. "I'm not going to let Schilling hurt anyone else! And if we don't do _something, _who will!?"

Maria folded her arms. By the sound of it, Fayt had been having the exact sort of thoughts that she had. She considered him through half-lidded (irritated) eyes. Judging by the cant of his jaw and that fire in his eyes, he wasn't going to budge on this, either. She had only seen him like this a few times, and one of those ultimately brought down the Creator himself.

_And I can't convince myself that he's wrong_. She folded her arms. "Well," she started neutrally, "we at the very least aren't going to go off half-cocked." She tilted her head. "And we certainly aren't going in without a plan of some sort, unless we want—"

Maria's comm. suddenly crackled to life, beeping frantically. Neither knew exactly why, but Maria hesitated in answering, and she and Fayt just stared at her cuff as it continued beeping wildly. They'd later realize that the exact same chill had run simultaneously up each of their spines.

"This is Maria," she finally answered.

"Captain, there's been a... _development_," Marietta said, sounding shaken.

Maria frowned. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I..." Marietta faltered. "It'd be best if I just patched it through... We were monitoring the FleetCom military channel, and... and it's probably best if you just listen..."

The comm. went suddenly crackled to life with a cacophony of harried voices.

_This is the _Victory_, we are in dire need of support –_

— _the Rezerb contingent just fired on—_

—_confirmed that the _Tomahawk _and _Starfall_ have both been destroyed_—

—_the shields are failing and we can't_—

—_fire the torpedoes! Those Rezerb bastards won't get away with_—

—c_an anyone read me!? Anybody!?_

Maria quietly cut the connection, and the two of them stared blankly at one another.

**OOO**

"What!?" General Schilling demanded, grabbing the lapel of the messenger.

The Marine started stammering in fear. "I-I-I don't know, sir! We've just begun getting reports that the Rezerb vessels embedded within our fleets are firing on our ships!"

Schilling released the Marine, then stalked out from behind his desk, exiting out into the corridors of Moonbase without a word. A short walk soon brought him to the CIC he had had hastily installed into a spare storage bay.

"SitRep!" he barked out as he entered the cavernous room.

His second in command looked up from the central command station. "Rezerb ships within our fleets are firing on any and every Federation ship they can find – even those of the Neutral—" the officer coughed lightly, "secessionists," he finished.

Schilling's teeth suddenly clenched in anger. _That _bastard! _He couldn't wait... _To be honest, Schilling had been expecting a double-cross from the beginning... he had simply held out hope that it would come a bit later in the campaign to bring the secessionists to heel.

This was a complication to his plans, no doubt... "Put the entire situation up on the master plot," Schilling commanded.

The picture the master plot soon painted was not a pretty one: significant losses to each of the Federation's three active fleets. Of the three, Fleet 7 and Fleet 13 seemed to be holding their own for the time being... but Fleet 5 in the Leruz System... _That _was where the majority of Rezerb ships had been deployed, and that was the place where the Federation was getting the worst of it...

Even so, Schilling had no doubt that he could handle—

"General Schilling!"

Schilling craned his head back up to one of the catwalks in the upper reaches of the room. His eyes narrowed. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

The group was headed by a space fleet admiral, backed by seven to ten officers next to him on the catwalk. After a moment, more troops – including, Schilling noted angrily, a few Marines (though none from his personal command in the 932rd) – stepped into the CIC... _all_ with weapons drawn.

"This has gone on long enough, Schilling!" the admiral called, slamming a fist down on the catwalk railing. "We aren't going to let you keep firing on _Federation_ citizens!"

"They're _backstabbers_!" Schilling shouted, as if explaining an obvious point to a child. "They no longer _deserve_ the prosperity we _gave_ them!" Schilling snarled.

For a moment, the admiral was taken aback, but he soon regained his cool. "You're mad..." he sad slowly, wonder in his voice that he hadn't recognized it sooner. "I didn't want to have to do this, but..." The admiral straightened himself up. "For the greater good of the Pangalactic Federation, I'm removing you from command and placing you under arrest."

"Heh," Schilling laughed, looking back at the main board. "You have _horrible_ timing... Haven't you noticed that Rezerb is in the process of betraying us?"

The admiral glanced up at the main plot, looking both surprised and grim. "We'll... we'll have to handle that ourselves, then." He turned his attention back to Schilling. "Will you go peacefully?" the admiral asked.

Schilling said nothing, only looking down at his left fist, clenched at his side. "One thing, Admiral," he finally said, his left fist suddenly erupting in a red glow, "... that's _Earth _Federation!"

The room erupted into chaos.

**OOO**

A similar tactical plot was on display in Maria's cabin. "It's pretty clear that the Rezerb forces are angling to capture Roak," Maria noted. "They've concentrated their forces in the center, there with the Federation fleet in Kappa sector."

Fayt nodded. "They break through, take Roak, and claim an easy victory... It'll be easy for them to negotiate great terms with the opposition capital held for ransom..."

Maria folded her arms, keenly focused on the battered Federation fleet in the center. "...They're not going to hold without help," she noted. "I guess Schilling didn't realize that the galaxy is a dangerous place for a wounded Federation."

"Well, from what we've seen," Fayt started, leaning against the console, "he doesn't look like the waiting type." He glanced at Maria. "Maybe he just felt like he_ couldn't_ wait anymore, especially if he wanted revenge against Cliff – not to mention the Neutral Powers."

Maria rested her chin in her hand. "Mirage _did _say he was downright hostile at the negotiations he attended..."

They lapsed into silence. Maria was staring at the tactical plot; after a moment, there was an intense look of concentration on her face, and her mouth worked silently.

"You're thinking about how to save the Federation fleet, aren't you?" Fayt asked.

Maria stiffened. "Maybe..." she said evasively. "Yes," she admitted a beat later in a quiet voice. "If they could just break free for a moment, regroup and..."

She closed her eyes. "We can't do both," she stated with some finality. "Either we help what's left of the Federation forces, or we go after Schilling." _Either we save a Federation fleet so it can continue plunging the Federation into mad civil war, or we save the Federation just in time to be mauled by Rezerb._

"No," Fayt disagreed, "we cando both." He folded his arms, looking solemn. "Face it, Maria – in ship to ship battles, I'd just be dead weight on the bridge. But there _is _something that I can do if I go to Moonbase..." he trailed off.

In truth, Maria had known that was the answer the entire time, but she had wanted so badly to pretend it wasn't possible. She realized with a start that she had grown far too used to facing things with Fayt at her side...

Maria wouldn't have been terribly surprised to learn that the exact same thoughts were running through Fayt's mind. But what Schilling had done... Even if it tore at him to leave Maria at this most critical of junctions, he knew in his heart that there was no other way.

"I _have _to stop Schilling," he said slowly. "And at this moment, you're the only one I know who can keep the Federation fleet from falling apart completely." He swallowed – this was far harder than he imagined it would be. "If I take the _Eagle,_ we can..."

"We... we have to..." He was trying so _hard _to keep up a brave face, but...

He wasn't sure when, but he suddenly found Maria in his arms. They didn't need words at this point... If only for a few moments more, they held each other. Just enough time for a last kiss and...

When they left the armory, Maria determinedly strode towards the bridge, to the left of the armory. Fayt marched towards the right, to the transporters, comm.-ing Lancar on the way, and asking how fond he was of suicide missions...

**OOO**

"That's a joke, right?" Lieber asked, incredulous. "The _Diplo _is still in shambles and the majority of Quark's manpower has been disbanded, and yet you want us to go gallivanting into the middle of the Federation-Rezerb War?"

There was a pause, then, "To _defend _the Federation!?" He met Maria's calm, collected gaze, and watched as she solemnly nodded once. "I don't believe this!" Lieber declared flatly, turning back to his station.

"Especially," chimed in Steeg, "considering that the Federation and a lot of other less savory groups have been expending every effort to track both you and Fayt down." Steeg laughed humorlessly. "Think if we screw up... We'd hand you two over on a silver platter: can you imagine Schilling with Destruction, or Rezerb with Alteration?"

"I understand the risks," Maria said primly, lacing her fingers, "and I believe that they are acceptable." Her expressions softened for a moment. "Considering that Quark no longer exists, I'm not ordering you. This is strictly volunteer – if you can even call it that."

Her expression hardened, and she looked back to the main view screen, again watching the steadily advancing Rezerb task force drive back the now wholly out-numbered Federation guard. "But regardless, with or without your support_, I am_ _going_ to that system."

She sighed, closing her eyes. "Admittedly," she started after a moment, "this isn't the sort of situation Quark was ever intended to handle. We're negotiators, not soldiers. And I had hoped that Quark could be retired quietly, now that the Federation has been coming apart at the seams..." Her eyes opened. "And never did I imagine that I would willingly place Quark – or what's left of it – into the middle of an unjust war of conquest and blind imperialism.

"But I firmly believe that neither Brooklund nor Schilling have any right to try and exert their will in this manner..." she asserted quietly. "In this instance – for once –" she added humorlessly, "the Federation itself is not to blame. They – President Vectra, the people of the Federation, the planets of the Neutral Powers – are victims, too." She stood up, a clenched fist defiantly held before her. "I – _we _– didn't risk everything to defeat Luther only to have these madmen take our hope away!"

"Aw, hell, when the boss makes a pretty speech like that, there's no way I can refuse!" Lieber complained, half amused and half truly irritated.

"No kidding," Steeg added from his station, hunkering down in his seat.

"We're with you 100, Captain!" Marietta chimed in.

Behind her confident, strong expression, gratitude welled up inside Maria; there was, however, little time for such things. She settled back down into her command chair. "Okay. I want a full report of the _Diplo_'s weapon capabilities and current engine output, and put out a recall order for any senior staff still on Expel. Tell them we only have an hour, and if they miss the boat, we're leaving without them."

She nodded once, curtly, then dropped back into her seat. "All right people – let's get to work!"

The crew bent about their tasks. Maria struggled not to think to hard about Fayt.

"Captain," Marietta said after a moment, "_Eagle II _is asking permission to break off." It was clear by her expression that she wondered why the _Eagle _would not be coming with them. For that matter... where had Fayt gone?

Maria, however, was unwilling to share. "Permission..." Hesitation, she had wanted so badly not to hesitate on this order, but there it was, and she felt like she was about to break apart and she might never see him again, and oh why did this have to happen, they should be on a transport ship and— "...granted," she finished, her voice barely above a growl.

Maria watched the main screen, as the _Eagle_ vanished amongst the stars...

In the sudden quiet of the bridge, Maria turned her gaze back on Expel... and was suddenly struck by a wild idea. "Marietta, contact me when those reports are ready..."

Marietta turned back, frowning. "Captain?"

Maria waved off the question as she left the bridge. "I've got some things to see to in medical..." she answered vaguely.

**OOO**

As it turned out, Lancar had no real problems with suicide missions, if they would ultimately spring Cliff and help keep the galaxy from tearing itself apart any farther.

Not that he would ever actually admit it. "How do I let myself get talked into these things?" he complained, mostly for show.

Fayt said nothing. His mind was still back on the _Diplo_. So many things he – they! – had wanted...

He tried to stop thinking about it. He needed to concentrate.

Lancar glanced over at Fayt in the silence of the cabin. "I know you and the captain probably took care of..." Lancar paused here; considering what was waiting for them ahead, he had a sudden superstitious urge to avoid the word 'goodbye.'

"Took care of... 'things' back on the _Diplo_, but if you've got any other folks you want to talk to..." Lancar for a moment was lost in thoughts of his own hasty goodbye to his wife just before leaving Expel and the _Diplo_ behind.

Fayt's expression softened. "You're... you're right... Excuse me." Looking distracted, Fayt turned and walked out of the _Eagle_'s cramped cabin.

**OOO**

Prime Minister Eleanor Kross glanced at her morning tablet. _There's a war out there, right now... A real war..._ Her tablet's splash page displayed the latest images from the frontline. What had started a police action against the Federation's own citizens had escalated into a battle for the very survival of the Federation against its newest 'ally.'

"Not that this is terribly surprising to anyone, of course," Kross muttered into the empty air of her office.

The bay windows to her right let in the harsh light of an Expellian winter morning. Though the room was warm, as she looked upon the bleached colors of her office, she still felt an involuntary shiver; she absently rubbed her arms. "Turning to Rezerb for help was like inviting a snake into bed with you." She shook her head.

_What was the ExComm. thinking...? If only Ophelia hadn't..._ Couldn't think that way – hurt too much. The loss was still too new, and...

And suddenly Eleanor felt a tingle in the air, as if...

And before the startled eyes of Eleanor Kross, a thin-faced doctor and four gurneys with patients materialized from a transport beam in the center of her office. Kross' jaw hung open. The doctor barked a short laugh. "Yeah, I'd guess I'd react about the same as well. You'd better call a medical team..." The doctor looked down to one of the patients. "And I've got a feeling you'll be very happy to see one of our patients..."

**OOO**

"..It's the only way," Fayt concluded, looking up at the two women displayed on the _Eagle_'s communication set.

Silence stretched over the open comm. channel. Finally, "Will it be dangerous?" Sophia asked, fear suddenly dancing in her eyes.

Fayt looked down at the console's keyboard, not answering. "Fayt," Sophia chided after a moment, in her tone meaning that she not only already knew the answer but expected Fayt to be man enough to admit it.

"Yes," he admitted finally.

Sophia looked like she was about to launch into a protest, but Ryoko placed a hand on her shoulder. "Fayt knows what he's doing," she said quietly, answering the silent question on Sophia's face. "We'll just have to trust him."

Her eyes were wispy as she locked gazes with Fayt. "Be careful, son." Fayt nodded back, his mother suddenly blossoming into a smile. "Clatos Spaceport, signing off."


	9. Eight: The Burning Galaxy

"You know, I've been thinking..." Lancar started. He was tapping his finger against the shelf of the console, clearly agitated – understandable, as the _Eagle _was seconds away from breaking out of gravitic warp into Luna's local space where an unknown (though undoubtedly unfriendly) force awaited them. "I've been thinking," he repeated, "that we're not just going to be able to dock and off-load onto Moonbase."

Fayt nodded. "No kidding. I've been thinking about that, too." He folded his arms. "If we can get close enough, I think I can blow open a hole in Moonbase's shielding. Nothing too big, but enough for you to transport me aboard."

Lancar nodded, though his expression was still troubled. "That's still a pretty big risk – we mess up, and you could either get fused into a wall or appear smack-dab in the middle of a Marine patrol."

Fayt, his eyes still locked ahead on the gravitic distortions slinging the _Eagle _at speeds far beyond those possible in all too mundane Newtonian space, slid a tablet over to Lancar at the helm. "Aim for these coordinates."

Lancar grabbed up the tablet, eyeing them. His eyebrow arched, and he glanced over at Fayt. "My father's old lab," Fayt explained distractedly. "With any luck, it'll be pretty empty."

Lancar nodded. It looked like he wanted to say more, but a display on his console drew his attention away. "Okay," he started, visibly tensing, "we're dropping out of gravitic warp in three... two... one..."

As the space around them resumed a more normal shape, both their eyes went immediately to their welcoming party: three combat explorers, presumably staffed by Federation officers loyal to Schilling... ...and each one alone more than a match for a ship like the _Eagle_. Their goal of Moonbase hung heavily in the space beyond, framed between the silver orb of the Moon and the sickly colors of what was left of Earth. Fayt balked at its now mostly brown and blasted profile.

"Any ideas?" Lancar deadpanned.

"Leave the cannons to me," Fayt said grimly. "Just concentrate on threading a course between them before those ships cut us off!"

Lancar nodded his head, suddenly grinning. "No problems there – there's no ship faster than the _Eagle_!"

The _Eagle _hurtled forward through space, defiantly charging the Federation blockade. The three ships at first did nothing, almost as if they had expected the little cutter to turn and run. When it did no such thing, all three moved to intercept.

"We're being hailed," Lancar reported dutifully.

"Ignore it," Fayt instructed.

As the seconds continued to tick by, it became painfully obvious what that message would have said. "They're charging weapons," Lancar stated quietly. His voice was calm, but the lightest hint of panic was already starting to creep in.

"I know, _I know_!" Fayt grated out, his teeth gritted. He was gripping his restraints with white knuckles. _Come on... come on!_ After what seemed like an eternity, his powers finally manifested, the familiar blue orb appearing before his forehead. _Yes!_

From the point of view of Federation ships, one moment they were seconds from blowing a tiny cutter out of the sky, the next, nearly every cannon and weapon onboard erupted in blue light. The damage was moderate – only the weapons systems were affected, and even then it was only enough to render them temporarily inoperable.

But the panic on board was instantaneous – this little cutter somehow disabled the weapons _through _their shields. Of course, even those who maintained their cool heads could do little but watch: there was honestly nothing left to stop the damnable little cutter with anymore.

Seconds later, the _Eagle _shot past the three disoriented Feddie ships.

**OOO**

"Federation battlegroup, this is the Diplomatic Flagship _Diplo_. What is your status?"

The comm. echoed with static for several long minutes; for a horrible moment Maria was afraid that there was no one left on board the ships to receive their signal. Finally, though... "_What?_"

Maria cleared her through lightly. "This is the—"

"I heard you the first time," the voice on the other end of the comm. said testily.

The speaker pulled away from the mike, giving his voice a distant quality. "Jesus... Johnnie, you getting this?" There was a muffled yes. Maria could imagine whoever was on the line shaking his head in disbelief. "_Diplo_," the speaker began quickly, "be advised, you've wandered into the middle of a war zone." If not for the slight edge of panic, the voice might have been condescending. "Your safety cannot be guaranteed at this—"

"Who am I talking with?" Maria asked sharply.

The fellow on the comm. clicked his tongue in disgust. "Keith Vaughn," he finally answered, "lieutenant commander and acting captain of the GFAS_ Striker_."

Maria duly noted the "acting"bit in Vaughn's new job title. _Looks like they've already been hit pretty hard._ "Well, then, _Captain_, at this precise moment, I'm more concerned with _your _safety." She keyed up onto her personal display a tactical plot. "If I'm not mistaken, your right forward screen is about crumble."

"Listen, I don't know who the hell you are, or what the hell you think your doing, but—"

Maria, however, wasn't listening. "Have your forward elements launch all their quantum torpedoes at these coordinates," she said as she quickly sent the indicated coordinates to the _Striker_, "while your right screen withdraws. Give them a thirty second head start, then withdraw the remainder of your forces, to regroup around the fifth planet of the nearby system."

Silence again, as Commander – Captain – Vaughn looked over her proposed plan. "I—that's—"

By the tone of his voice, Maria judged that Vaughn had next to no idea what to do. In situations like this... "_Do it_, unless you want your men to die!" she shouted into the comm.

There was a long pause. In lieu of an answer, the forward element of the Federation battlegroup launched a massive barrage of quantum torpedoes, while the battered right flank began withdrawing at maximum speed. Thirty seconds passed; as the Federation line began to withdraw, the torpedoes, still far from their destination, sailed on quietly.

In all truth, no single barrage of quantum torpedoes was going to do much of anything to dissuade the slow but steady advance of the Rezerbian assault fleet – especially one suddenly presented with the exposed flanks of a retreating enemy. But, with a little helping hand from Alteration, the torpedoes could be persuaded to put together one hell of a light show...

As the space between the fleets erupted in chaotic light, Maria, though panting, nodded. "Marietta, set us on a course to follow the retreating Federation fleet." She glanced back at the impressive explosions she had managed to coax from the torpedoes. "As fast as we can go – I'm not sure exactly how long that'll dissuade the Rezerb fleet from following..."

As the _Diplo _pulled away, Maria quietly allowed herself a spare moment to wonder just what the hell she was getting herself into...

**OOO**

The normal disorientation following transport buffeted Fayt. As he opened his eyes, the familiar gloom of the former Leingod research lab spread out around him. If not for the banks of computer screens being long since quieted and the thick layer of dust on most of the objects, why, Fayt would almost feel at home again...

"Fayt, everything okay on your end?" _Do you need an emergency beam out because there are Marines breathing down your neck?_

With almost shaky fingers, Fayt keyed his communicator. "Everything's fine, Lancar. Sorry – I... I spaced out for a minute there."

Lancar chose not to ask. "Okay. You sure you don't want some back up down there. I may look old, but I can still fire a mean phase rifle..."

"No," Fayt answered quickly. "Chances are we're going to need to make a quick getaway before this is all over. Stick to the plan for now. Are you sure _you'll _be okay out there?"

"Aw, yeah, I'll be fine," Lancar started in a bravado-filled tone. "There are plenty of debris fields out here to keep me and the _Eagle _out of sight out of any more Federation ships that may pass us by."

"Right," Fayt said. "Keep quiet and keep safe, Lancar."

"You, too, kid." Fayt's communicator hissed into silence. Stuffing the communicator back with the rest of his equipment (and determinedly pushing thoughts of his mother and – especially – his father out of his mind) Fayt took a deep breath.

He moved for the exit, but was brought up short when he noticed a series of frayed wires off to the left. _Those shouldn't be like that..._ Curiosity got the better of him, and he moved to get a better look at the far wall. "It's like they tore out this entire wall..."

Several wall mounts for cables had been torn up as well. In fact, as he followed the brackets along the wall, they trailed off into the gloom of the next room... _Oh no..._ Fayt thought suddenly, gripped with a sharp and icy realization of what had been done. With a desperate hope that he was wrong, Fayt dashed into the next room and slapped on the interior lights...

The three tanks, which once upon a time were used to give infants Fayt, Maria, and Sophia their powers, were _gone_. The massive room which housed them had been gutted, and frayed wires and broken panels were scattered everywhere. At first Fayt's mind did not want to process the implications, or really, even what he was seeing.

The sound of gunfire drew Fayt's attention, shattering his train of thought. Dropping immediately into a fighting stance, he pivoted. Nothing moved inside the lab. _Something big is going on outside_.

Fayt cast a backwards glance over his shoulder; the gaping hole where the tanks had been seemed to mock him. _No time to ponder over that mystery, I'm afraid..._

With another deep breath to steady himself, he opened the lab's door. The corridor beyond was darkened – while it had been a while since he had been on Moonbase last, Fayt got the distinct impression that was unusual. He edged out into the hall, working his way towards the broad lift that would take him to the main habitation ring. The corridors of the science block remained oddly silent. Despite, this, Fayt ultimately made it to the lift with no problems.

He almost didn't make it _off_ the lift, however. As the lift came to a stop, a ricocheting bullet nearly caught his shoulder. Grunting, Fayt leapt off the lift's platform, and dove for an overturned metal bench. "The hell...?" He dared to peer over the edge of his make-shift cover.

About twelve yards away, on a section of metal walkway that wasn't connected to his own, a group of about four Federation officers – each with a white strip of white cloth tied conspicuously to their upper right arms – fired off a motley collection assault rifles and phase guns at a group of about ten Federation Marines, in full body armor.

As Fayt watched, the Marines, using their tough armor to protect them, relentlessly pressed against the beleaguered resisting officers. One of the officers shouted something, and the four started to back away, trying to hop from cover point to cover point.

The officer seemingly in charge (who had shouted) was the last to move away – in a final act of defiance, he lobbed a high-frag. grenade at the Marines. As he tried to catch up to the rest of his men, an assault rifle clawed through his right shoulder, and he dropped to the cold metal walkway.

The explosion silenced the Marine's weapons for a moment (as well as blowing away large chunks of the metal walkway) but altogether too soon, they heavy clatter started up again soon six of the surviving Marines were already advancing.

It was about at that point that Fayt realized he had blundered into the middle of a war.

**OOO**

"Listen up," Maria said firmly, "because we've only got one chance to stop the Rezerb advance before they come crashing into Theta sector."

She nodded to Marietta, who operated the large briefing room's massive holographic projector. A detailed star map appeared, with the last known Rezerb coordinates painted in an ominous red. "With the successes they've racked up so far, I have no doubt that they'll set the fastest course to pursue us."

Another nod to Marietta, and holographic representations of the various ships of the Rezerb fleet appeared in place of the star map. "Their fastest ships can just barely out pace our battleships," and here Maria indicated the new mystery ships Brooklund would have called the _Ezekiahs_, "but thankfully they've only got two of those, and the majority of their fleet is slower..."

"Even so, we've only got little over a three hour head start, and we need to coordinate and prepare a battle order as well as—"

"Who the hell put you in charge?" demanded a flat voice from the back of the room.

Maria's eyes flattened to slits, and she turned an icy gaze upon the speaker. "Excuse me?" she demanded.

"Who the hell are you to be telling _us _what to do!?" the speaker demanded. He was a green headed featherfolk with captain's piping on his uniform and service cap. "I came here because Lieutenant Comm—_Captain_ Vaughn asked all senior staff here to the _Striker _for a strategy session." His scowl deepened. "And instead, I get some _civilian _playing armchair admiral!"

Maria was about to launch into a rant about how all the Federation fleet had managed so far was to get their ass handed to them when another voice spoke up instead. "She got us out of there," Captain Vaughn said, quietly yet forcefully. "Face it, Paul – nearly to the man we're just activated reserves."

Vaughn stood up from the chair he had on the base level of the circular room. "We nearly lost it out there," he continued. "And Ms. Traydor here was the only one who managed to come up with a plan. We _need _her experience."

The captain turned slowly, examining the whole room – not many of the collected officers could manage to meet his gaze. "If anyone else wants to question her, then they're welcome to get off my ship." The room remained silent. "Paul" remained sullen, but folded his arms in defeat.

Maria inclined her head every so slightly to Captain Vaughn, who (although he seemed a bit embarrassed) nodded back. "All right, then," Maria started again, "As I was saying..."

She nodded to Marietta again, and the projector displayed a solar system. "This is the Naacap System – one red giant primary, six planets. Of those six planets, only two have any land to speak off, and neither of them have life. We're currently in orbit around the fifth planet."

She nodded again, and Marietta quietly had the projector zoom out to a sector wide map. "Naacap is on a direct route between the Rezerb assault fleet's last known position on the edge of System and Theta Sector... specifically, Roak." She arched an eyebrow. "I don't think I need to tell you all what happens if they penetrate Theta Sector and take Roak?" The room grumbled uneasily. "That's what I thought." She folded her arms. "If we're going to fight them anywhere, Naacap is the place to do it."

Maria let her gaze travel across the room, taking in the serious expressions on the collected officers. "I'm going to bottom line this: they know that we have withdrawn towards this system, and they know that if they can cripple this fleet, they'll have an altogether easy time capturing Roak."

She eyed the room. "We _have _to hold _here_. It's that simple." Maria met many of the grim faces and was pleased with their resolve. She nodded.

She turned to the projection, which zoomed in on the planet designated Naacap IV. "We'll deploy our battle line there, in geosync. orbit at Lagrange 2, around Naacap IV. With a planet on one side and a moon on the other, their approach vectors are going to be limited." Her lips pressed into a grim line. "Even so, let me make something very clear: if they manage to completely encircle us, we're done."

"Now to the more mundane matters," she said, switching topics smoothly. She nodded to the several Federation junior staffers gathered around the room; they quickly bent and moved from officer to officer, handing out tablets. "Your specific orders will be on the tablets that are being handed to you." She turned back to the projector.

"In brief, our fleet will be divided into five task groups, with the _Striker, Harbinger_, _Lancer_, _Mercury_, and the _Diplo_ functioning as motherships for command/control." A discreet nod to Marietta; the projector shifted from a static listing of fleet assets to a tactical plot, three of the listed task groups (Striker, Diplo, Harbinger) in orbit between Nacaap IV and its primary moon. "These will be our initial positions – and we'll adapt as necessary until we are forced from LG 2."

Maria noted a hand from the gathered staffers. She nodded in acknowledgment. The officer coughed lightly. "Uh, 'scuse me, ma'am, but, uh... Where are the Lancer and Mercury task groups going to be during all this?"

Maria allowed herself the luxury of a small, grim smile as she turned back to the projector. "That, ladies and gentlemen, is stage two of our plan..."

**OOO**

"Aaah!" Fayt's blade sailed through the air, the flat of it connecting solidly with the side of the Marine's helmet, sending the owner to the ground in a heap. In a smooth movement, Fayt twisted, lashing out his left foot in a wild kick that solidly met the gut of another Marine. As the Marine was launched back against the corridor's wall, Fayt landed with a flourish on a bent knee.

"Over here! I heard something!" came an echo from down the corridor; the sound of thudding boots soon followed.

Fayt grunted, panting slightly. _I don't know if which side they're on, but I don't really want to find out, either_. As he sprinted down the corridor, ducking along cramped walkways and shimming past debris, he reflected that he really didn't know if either were on _his _side.

As he pulled into an open plaza (the benches and potted plants showing various degrees of battle-damage), the sounds of pursuit behind him grew distant. This was less comforting than he hoped, as the sounds of gunfire and more marching soon came from another path on the opposite side of the plaza. Scowling, he realized that there was little good cover in his immediate vicinity.

He wracked his brain. _Let's see... Come on, Fayt! Level three, section twenty-seven of Moonbase, and that meant... that means... _"Security office," he said softly to himself, his feet already sprinting to his left through the plaza.

Down a short flight of stairs on the far end of the palisade was a battered looking security force office. The door was jammed open with a dead body. Grimly, Fayt dragged the body inside. As the door finally closed with a tired sounding hiss, he firmly locked from the inside. The security office wasn't very big – another era might have called it a rather small guard shack – but Fayt figured it would be good enough to keep him out of sight until the ever-approaching firefight had passed him by.

"Hurnn...ah..."

Fayt tensed, already grabbing for his sword again. It became glaringly obvious that he wasn't alone like he had thought. As his eyes adjusted to the partial gloom, he spotted something moving next to the office's solitary terminal. From the blood and the prone position of the figure, he didn't much look like a threat.

Fayt treaded over. The officer looked to be older, with a shock of white hair and a trimmed white beard. Several nasty gunshot wounds pierced his chest; from the sound of it, it sounded like they had punctured his lungs as well. As Fayt bent to try and help him, he noticed another of the white strips of cloth tied around the officer's arm.

The officer stiffened, feebly trying to fend Fayt off, until he saw that Fayt wasn't what he was expecting. "Civilian...?" the officer asked.

Fayt looked down at his armor and sword. "Not quite..."

The officer peered closer; evidentially, he recognized Fayt. "Leingod..." he muttered in surprise.

The bleeding Feddie officer weakly waved off Fayt's further attempts to help. "No... time..." he insisted. He instead limply indicated the blood splattered console. "Here... Oversight committee hearing... SD 398..." The officer coughed, his entire body spasaming and blood sprinkling his palm.

After struggling for several more breaths, he calmed, finally firmly locking eyes with Fayt. "_Important_," he sputtered out, placing as much emphasis on the word as he could in his state.

"A committee hearing?" Fayt asked, half rhetorically.

The officer nodded weakly. "Can't... let him..."

He grabbed Fayt's shirt with the totality of his remaining strength, his eyes frantic in their need to get his last message across. "Federation's... _better_... our _ideals_..." The officer's eyes began to tear up. "Please... _save it_..."

Fayt placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on the officer's quickly weakening fist. No longer trusting his words, Fayt only nodded, gripping the officer's hand tightly.

If it was any small comfort, the officer died with the worry clear on his brow somewhat eased.

After a moment, Fayt laid the officer's hand on his body. Frowning, he turned to console. A program – rather, a recording – had already been cued up. The title card on the screen proclaimed "Federation Senate Oversight Committee on Human Heraldry (Symbological) Genetics" evidentially from a space-date analogous to 7 May 398 SD. Fayt quietly hit PLAY.

The title card faded, soon replaced with the old Senate hearing room in the Federation capital on Earth. The committee chair banged a gavel, brining the meeting to order. After a few introductory remarks, the camera shifted to a table set out before the panel of senators.

Sitting at the table, just in front of a microphone, was a blonde space forces admiral – older, but still retaining some of his boyish good looks. He fiddled with a gold wedding band on his left hand. That, however, was the only display of anxiousness in the admiral.

"Admiral Kenni?" asked the committee chair.

The space forces admiral nodded, cleared his throat, and began. "Thank you, Mr. Chairman." And here, the admiral paused for a moment, almost grinning to himself. "What I have to say today may seem fantastic, but I beg that you allow me to tell my tale to its conclusion."

With that as a preface, he dove in. "As you all may be familiar, it is a matter of record that during Survey Expedition 11791, while serving on the EFES 1701 _Calnus_, I vanished from the unexplored planet Milokeenia."

With only the slightest bit of noticeable hesitation, the admiral continued. "In the following months, and over the trials of a harrowing mission, I eventually learned of an ancient galactic superpower known as the Nedian Empire..."

**OOO**

Time in a battle seemed to move differently. Maria had (some would say unfortunately) been in enough close scrapes to understand that grim concept. While the battered Federation defense line had only been engaged with the Rezerb assault fleet for a little over three hours, it already seemed like she had been fighting this battle her entire life...

It had began much as she had expected: the moment the first Rezerb ships had appeared on long-range sensors, they immediately charged headlong at the Feddie ships with full sublight engines, firing salvo after salvo of torpedoes and long range phase cannons – at that stage of the 'war,' subtlety would have been pointless.

But Maria and the fleet had been prepared, having deployed their battle line in a solidly support but still dispersed fashion which made it difficult for the Rezerb ships to simply encircle – the tenacity of the Federation gunners no doubt helped on that score as well. With a little help from Naacap IV and its primary moon, the battle had 'stabilized' into two lines of ships slugging it out.

But the cost had already been terrible... Several ships had already been disabled, and three had been outright destroyed already...

"Fleet status," Maria commanded flatly.

"Captain, the _Eris _and the _Tigershark_ have both been destroyed, and the _Remembrance_'s forward shields have just failed." Steeg reported grimly. _Two more of my task group, and a third on the way..._

"The enemy fleet has advanced quicker than expected..." Marietta added. "Ma'am, if we don't abandon LG 2 soon, we'll be encircled." Marietta's voice sounded panicky, though it was clear she was fighting valiantly to maintain control.

"Shields down an additional 34, Captain," Lieber added quickly. "The _Tigershark's _explosion did a number on them – it'll take a few seconds to compensate, but we'll be back to full power soon."

_Things are going better than I expected_, Maria thought dispassionately. "Signal stage two to the rest of the fleet, and get—"

Maria never managed to finish that sentence. A lucky blast from the enemy flagship punched through the _Diplo_'s temporarily weakened shields, slicing through the port engine nacelle. As the ship rocked wildly, the bridge went dark.

**OOO**

Level 4, section 00, colloquially known as "Feddie Hub" among the residents of Moonbase, was the tactical heart of the Federation military on Moonbase. From its position roughly in the center of Moonbase, the local space fleet/security force/Marine joint command post was probably the single most protected section of the entire space colony. Until the Executioner attacks themselves, in fact, Feddie Hub had been the center of most operational control of Federation activities in Earthspace.

It was here that Fayt had a certain suspicion that he would find Schilling, and, after another hour or two of sneaking along the war-torn pathways of Moonbase, Fayt had the feeling he was closer than ever.

The main complex had seen better days, however. The front gate and guard-posts flanking it had all been shattered by a combination of phase rifle blasts, machine guns, and explosives. That wasn't the main thing that drew his attention, however: several long and very thick black cables ran past the wrecked gate, running past the defaced statue (Admiral Ronixis J. Kenni, hero of the Second Lesonia War) in the broad plaza before the main building.

Following the cables drew Fayt deep inside the massive complex. As he continue inside, more cables joined the first; Fayt's suspicions only continued to build, and he was certain that they were leading him somewhere important.

All the cables abruptly led him to the entrance of a massive storage room. From inside, he heard the low hum of massive machinery... And a voice he remembered all too well from the endless press conferences...

Fayt (his blood up) charged in headlong, weapon already drawn. "Schilling!"

Staring down Schilling (and his attendant attachment of Marines), Fayt soon realized what the humming had been. A massive transporter pad had been built in the floor of the innocuous looking store-room; the cables he had followed evidentially were the make-shift power relays for the massive thing. And as for why such a massive thing had to built in the first place... Schilling, on the pad, stood next to one of the missing tanks from Dr. Leingod's lab.

"And just who the hell—" Recognition, surprisingly, flashed almost instantly on Schilling's face. He smirked, shaking his head. "And so the prodigal son returns..." he muttered to himself. Louder, "Mr. Leingod... I don't know just why you're here, but I'll give you a chance to just turn around and crawl back to whatever hole you've been hiding yourself in."

Fayt didn't respond, but he didn't move either. Schilling rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish, but who am I to tell the mighty wielder of 'destruction' what to do?" He turned to one of his men. "Kill him, then follow me down. We will begin the process on you and your men down there... And then we'll see about permanently... _cleansing _this station."

At that moment, realization dawned on Fayt, and everything – the missing tanks, the odd recording the dying officer had been so keen to share, the factions battling all across Moonbase – snapped into place.

Schilling next turned to the Marine manning the transporter equipment. "Now. Beam me and the tank down now."

"Wait!" Fayt shouted.

It was futile, however – as the transporter engaged, Schilling turned back to face Fayt, offering a half-hearted shrug and a mocking expression. And like that, Schilling was gone, presumably down to the Earth's surface...

...leaving Fayt face to face with fifteen armored Marines under orders to kill him. His anger driving him, Fayt dashed forward, a familiar blue glow suddenly erupting from within...


	10. Nine: Life and Death

Fayt took several steps forward, his boots clanking loudly on the massive metal grate platform. He was a bit battered, and more than a little bloodied, but he was far from out of commission.

The platform had been a surprise... but then again, he hadn't really known what to expect when he beamed down to the Earth's surface for the first time since the attacks. He vaguely wondered what part of the globe he was standing on... New York? Old Tokyo? Paris? Buenos Aires? He imagined the sandy and pock-marked vista rolling out around him looked about the same no matter what part of Earth he was on. Blasted canyons and mountains flanking a reddish sun just added to the devastated picture.

The platform was roughly the size of two football fields shoved together length-wise. On the north side of the structure he could make out several helipads; on the east side were what looked like half built barracks and other buildings; storage containers, all emblazoned with the stylized 'Earth Reclamation' project insignia and the seal of the EFSF, were spread liberally across the platform, though they were most thickly clustered directly to the south.

But what commanded Fayt's attention most was what looked to be a portable creation generator connected to three very familiar capsules... and the uniformed man tending to a terminal next to it all.

"Schilling..." In the silence of the devastated world and aided by the slight wind, Fayt's words seemed to echo and hang in the air for long moments.

With almost a laugh, Schilling stopped his labors on the console. "Well, I guess my best men really weren't all that great after all." With a needlessly dramatic swirl (and here Fayt suffered a moment of déjà vu – hadn't Luther done something similar?), Schilling turned to face Fayt. "Well, Mr. Leingod. Shall we chat?"

**OOO**

For a heartbeat, Maria was afraid that she and her ship had died. After what seemed like an eternity, emergency lights blinked on across the bridge. In the red haze, Maria fought a feeling of rising panic.

"Get communications back up!" she shouted, gripping the armrests of her chair tightly. "We have to give the signal for stage two!"

Below, Lieber cursed as his panel remained unresponsive. "Just a—!" He lifted his arms to protect himself as his console sparked. "Just a second!" he shouted once the sparks passed. With a grunt, he dropped to the deck, quickly removing several panels under his station.

Tense minutes passed, the only sounds the harsh breath of the bridge crew and the frantic sounds of Lieber's work. "Dammit!" he shouted, shaking his hand after shocking himself by grabbing the wrong wire.

"Lieber!" Maria snapped. watching as he struggled with a tangled looking mess of wires.

Lieber, triumphantly, climbed back into his seat seconds later. "Marietta, try it now!"

"Federation defense line," Marietta started, breathless, "initiate stage two_ immediately_!"

"Can we get the main screen back up?" Maria asked, her urgency dampened now that the message had been relayed.

Steeg had already been working on it, tangling with wires behind his console. After a moment, his screen winked back on. "It'll be a few moments, Captain, but our backups are already starting to kick in."

Sure enough, the main screen soon followed. The master tactical plot it displayed froze for a moment as it updated. Maria's mouth quirked into a smile. The _Striker _was covering the damaged _Diplo_. And stage two was well underway.

**OOO**

"...and long-ranged sensors indicate that the enemy flagship survived our last attack," reported the operations officer on the bridge of the _Line Raptor_.

Sergeant Brooklund scowled. "Damn," he grated out as the main screen hazily showed a battered enemy flagship (oddly, what looked to be a heavily modified diplomatic ship) struggling away, covered by another Federation battleship. He turned to his weapons officer. "Lieutenant, prepare to fire another volley at—"

"Captain!" Brooklund's executive officer broke in, "we have several more Federation ships inbound on our right flank!"

"_What_!?" Brooklund demanded, his eyes flying to the tactical plot on one of the _Line Raptor_'s secondary screens. Several new icons blinked into existence to the right and just behind his forward ships.

The answer was obvious. In Brooklund's zeal for the remaining Federation fleet, he had advanced too quickly, _without _doing a detailed scan of the planet they rushed past. The full understanding of the situation, of course, was little comfort to the Sergeant at that precise moment.

After a few choice curses, Brooklund's face remained stony. "Turn the right element back to meet them as they can." He turned his attention back to the main screen, and its magnified image of the damaged enemy flagship. "Signal the _Razor Wing. _It and the _Line Raptor _will proceed to harass the enemy vessels from the left. All other ships... _advance_."

**OOO**

"I don't have anything to say to you, Schilling," Fayt answered gravely.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Leingod—surely after coming all this way, we must have _something_ to chat about," Schilling protested. "I must admit, you have me at something of a disadvantage... I have no idea why you seem so intent on tracking me down... though, judging from your equipment," and here Schilling made a point to glare at Fayt's weapon, "I could hazard a few guesses."

Fayt's response was silence.

"I guess you really _aren't _interested in talking. Fine then – I supposed I can deal with that." He turned back to the capsules. "You've no doubt been keeping up on the recent state of the galaxy...?" Schilling asked as he resumed his previous task.

"The Federation bleeds white in an effort to save the galaxy from those... _things_... The _Executioners_—_wherever _the hell they came from—and when we just _barely _manage to hold on, _barely _manage to survive despite the overwhelming odds, what's the first thing so many of our _friends _and _allies_ think to do?"

He slammed down the enter key on the keyboard with much more force than was necessary. After a moment, he resumed typing. "So, then, if the bastards are going to try and stab us in the back in our time of _need_, they were clearly never friends of ours. And they've left this once proud Federation bloodied, battered, and almost broken."

He leaned forward against the machine. "But that's all okay." Fayt had not expected Schilling to say that: it sounded almost... magnanimous.

Any such doubts in Fayt's mind were quickly dispelled, however. "Don't you get it!?" Schilling demanded hysterically as he twisted away from the machinery. "With _this,_" and here, he paused to affectionately pat the Leingod machinery, "I can_ fix_ it! I can restore the Federation to _greatness_, and put those _traitors_ – _and_ Rezerb –back in their place!"

"That's not the Federation's way!" Fayt countered angrily. Fayt's mind flicked back to the oversight hearing the dying Federation officer had directed him to...

It had been a recording of a respected admiral, from an esteemed military family, putting his career and his reputation on the line to ensure passage of legislation outlawing symbological genetics experimentation in humanoids.

The admiral had explained in a patient and reasoned tone that the potential for these humanoid biological weapons represented a choice between the Federation's founding ideals or power at the cost of tyranny. An ancient empire had once made that decision and, though it had long since faded from the universal stage, it had left behind a legacy that had nearly destroyed the universe. And now here, on a devastated planet in the light of a blood red sunset, history was threatening to repeat itself.

"The Federation's more than just—" Fayt began.

"Hrk—!" Fayt gasped, as pain blossomed in his side.

The blast had caught Fayt about mid-abdomen; the pain was immense. Twirling away to the left, Fayt landed heavily on the platform behind him.

He could feel the vibrations as well as hear Schilling's steps across the metal platform toward him. "I don't think you quite understand the situation, Mr. Leingod. I'm going to _save_ the Federation, from its enemies as well as itself. And since you insist on standing in my way... Well, I imagine that you can guess what happens next..."

**OOO**

"Ma'am, the two modified corsairs have broken off from the main force, and are cutting through our right flank," Marietta informed the bridge.

Maria scowled. _Well_, she thought tiredly, _they always did say 'Catch as catch can.' _"We'll have to worry about them later, for now." She stared intently at the tactical display on the main screen. "They're advancing too fast..."

"What would you like to do, ma'am?" Steeg asked from his station.

Maria interlaced her fingers, resting her chin on them. "I guess we're going to have to risk it..."

"Ma'am?" Marietta asked.

Maria's expression had settled into a stone mask. "Give the signal for withdrawal plan 1-B."

"Yes, ma'am," Marietta answered automatically.

The rate of fire from the Federation force increased dramatically, but the entire line began to move, full reverse, one-half sublight engines. It was at that precise moment that the _Illusion_ suddenly came to nearly a complete stop, venting plasma from its starboard nacelle at an alarming rate.

"Captain, the _Illusion _is hailing us," Lieber reported, his eyes flying over his personal display. "They're reporting too much damage... their engines are barely functioning..." He turned back to face Maria. "...They're effectively dead in the water."

Maria's mouth pressed into a thin line. "All stop – act to cover and—"

"Captain!" Steeg called out, "The Rezerbians smell blood: they're advancing against the _Illusion_!"

Maria's fingers began drumming wildly. The Rezerbians could hardly be expected to act otherwise: the wounded _Illusion_ was now alone and exposed ahead of the Federation line, trying desperately to limp back to the rest of the fleet. It could be easily isolated and torn apart with close weapons fire... The display emotionlessly displayed the rapidly shrinking range between the _Illusion_ and the advancing Rezerb ships.

"Captain?" Steeg called out.

Maria didn't respond.

"Captain! Now!?"

"Not yet!" Maria grated out as she intently watched the rapidly shrinking distance between the Rezerbian fleet's lead elements and the struggling _Illusion_.

Steeg blinked, clearly surprised. He glanced at Marietta and Lieber (whose expressions were hard to read, as they watched the main tactical plot) then back at Maria. "Captain, we have to—"

"Now!" Maria shouted the moment the range indicator click below 1000 kilometers.

Steeg, startled, quickly twisted back to his terminal, imputing the appropriate commands. Nearby, Lieber was already relaying the next set of commands: "All ships, special packages away, _Illusion _clear to run."

The supposedly-beleaguered _Illusion _suddenly stopped venting plasma before loping its way back to the protection of the Federation line at full sublight engines. In the seconds after, it became apparent that the _Illusion _had been playing decoy all the while.

At that same moment, nearly every Federation ship fired off a mass of ball bearings, releasing them from specially (and hastily) converted missile tubes. In the darkness of space, they silently shot forward towards the enemy fleet...

"Here we go," Maria declared, gritting her teeth as she focused on the ball bearings, "all ships, shields to maximum." Within seconds, as the small spheres traveled through the Rezerb fleet – too small and insignificant to be paid any heed – Maria's powers manifested. Each was instantaneously changed to anti-matter, enveloping the entire area in catastrophic explosions.

Maria let a long whoosh escape from her lips, trying hard to fight the nausea rising in her. "Enemy status?" she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

"Most ships have suffered damage to shields between 14 and 25, ma'am," Lieber answered. "Three enemy ships have been destroyed, and two more are withdrawing to rear positions."

She tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. Sure, the tricky application of Alteration was a long shot, and it certainly had helped _some_, but... Her vision suddenly doubled and she felt lightheaded. _Not... Not going to be able to do _that _again for a while_, Maria thought tiredly. She mopped sweat from her brow. "Well..." Deep breath. "At least we gave them a bloody nose – that ought to slow down their advance." Straightening, Maria nodded. "Resume firing – let's try and press our advantage."

**OOO**

Indeed, Fayt had a few ideas as to what Schilling was getting at. He rolled onto his back, staring up as Schilling stood over him. Holding one hand out, Schilling seemed to form a sort of red blade around his right fist. "Now, then, if you would just sit still for a moment more—!" He stabbed down with the ethereal blade...

...which Fayt parried with dramatic twirl of his weapon. With the few seconds that gave him, he nimbly got back to his feet, turning as he did and whipping his blade around, trying to bisect Schilling. It was a wild and unfocused attack, which Schilling easily dodged. Using his building frustration, Fayt twisted once more, slamming his foot into Schilling's side. _That _connected, and Schilling danced back, coughing lightly.

But Fayt wasn't done. Hoisting his sword like a spear, Fayt lunged forward, shouting. Schilling grunted, seemingly surprised by Fayt's ferocity. He attempted to fall back again, but Fayt was faster; Schilling awkwardly blunted and deflected Fayt's blade with his own (just as solid, Fayt was dismayed to find, as if it was forged from steel).

Schilling grinned, then slammed his free arm into the wound in Fayt's side. Fayt grunted, spinning away and favoring the wound, using his sword to try and screen any attacks from Schilling. Schilling, sensing blood (metaphorically speaking) pressed his attack, managing to knock Fayt's sword out of position, drawing his arm back for a fatal stab...

Ignoring the riotous pain in his side, Fayt (grunting in effort) launched into another side kick. Still managed to dodge, but it gave Fayt precious few seconds to catch his breath again. The two awkwardly paced each other, Fayt already breathing hard and Schilling seeming to enjoy himself.

_Smug bastard..._ Fayt grumbled silently, before slashing out with his blade. Schilling parried with his red blade. The two locked into a battle of strength for a moment, Fayt's long practice with swords soon giving him the upper hand; shoving with all his might, he managed to break Schilling's guard. With Schilling wide open, Fayt stabbed forward...

...only narrowly missing Schilling's neck, but still managing to cut into Schilling's right arm Fayt drew his blade back. His face suddenly contorting with anger, Schilling recoiled, bounced on his heels, and struck forward with his left fist, catching the left side of Fayt's face.

Fayt twirled and recoiled, stars seeming to float over his already stinging left eye. _If I make it through this, I'm going to have a hell of a shiner to show for it... _

Trying to shake his head (and vision) clear, Fayt took another step back, raising his sword defensively. Schilling glanced down to his wounded arm, probing and testing the slash (far shallower than Fayt had been hoping) with two of his fingers. "Well, you've managed to ruin my uniform, but not much else..." Schilling declared sarcastically.

With his red blade held forward, and settling into a martial arts stance Schilling started to grin. "Surely you can do better than that... Come now—you're supposed to be the great hero! _Master _of destruction!" His tone was mocking, and his smile seemed to suggest he was enjoying every minute.

With a grunt and a battle cry, Fayt charged forward, his blade raised high over his head. Once he had closed with Schilling, Fayt whipped his blade in a downward strike. Schilling twisted away, feinting with his fist before whipping his leg around in a high kick. Fayt ducked below before ramming his right fist (reinforced by his sword's hilt) right into Schilling's temporarily exposed gut.

Coughing, Schilling stumbled back. But it was only a moment before that strange smile stole back onto his face, and he had set himself back into his combat stance. "You know, at the rate this is going," he suddenly said, "this could take a while, and I've got a few—" and here, Schilling looked up, though if he was indicating Moonbase or the Rezerbians (or _both_) Fayt wasn't sure, "—_pressing issues_ to attend to."

"So," he started, "So, how about we stop all the kid's stuff, hmm?"

Right then, with a howl that bordered on a scream, Schilling sprouted ragged, seemingly flaming wings of energy from his back, an altogether familiar looking orb (save for its crimson color) dancing before his forehead.

**OOO**

"Ma'am, _Harbinger_'s shields have nearly failed." Lieber's voice was nearly devoid of emotion.

Maria's face was a grim mask. With the losses those mystery ships had wrecked on her right flank, the _Harbinger _was the last battleship left to hold that section of the line... And if it went down, she had no doubt in her mind that the several explorer class ships it was shielding would shortly follow... _Then... Then... _ Her head pounded with the force of a migraine.

"Captain, we have several inbound ships on our scanners," Marietta reported, distractedly readjusting the bandage encircling her head.

"Friends or foes?" Maria demanded, her tone surprisingly harsh as her eyes never left the master tactical plot on the main screen.

The six red and white unknowns on the plot suddenly turned a surprisingly welcome green. "They're all Federation, ma'am – and they're hailing us."

Maria's stony countenance softened for a moment in surprise. "Put it up," she said flatly. _Never thought I'd ever be in a situation where I'd be so happy to see the arrival of _more_ Federation ships..._ More Federation ships, back in the "simple" days of Quark agitation, usually meant complicating the hell out of matters and increasing the chance of being arrested. The line between a protestor and a criminal always seemed to blur when too many Feddies were around...

Maria shook off the memories, forcing herself back to the moment. The tactical plot was shifted to one of the _Diplo_'s secondary screens, as a handsome woman – dark hair and eyes and tan skin – in a pristine Federation uniform appeared in its place. "I tried hailing one of our ships, but they said we should talk to you," the woman said, a touch of amusement in her voice.

Had it been another time and another place, Maria might have appreciated the levity. As it was, with a fleet being shot to pieces beneath her... "That's right," Maria said evenly.

The Federation captain nodded, almost as in approval. "This is Captain Ivana Beize, GFAS _Le Grange_, along with what they're jokingly calling a task force these days." She shrugged. "Sorry I'm late," she said breezily, "but a few Rezerb 'allies' tried to backstab me when the shooting started." She smirked. "Looks like you've got a shooting war on your hands. Can you use me?"

Maria nodded. "I think we can find you something..." She paused, checking some information on her personal screen. "Course 171, Mark 236," she said abruptly, "cover _Harbinger_'s withdrawal from the firing line, then hold in its place as long as your command can."

"Roger... _Commodore_. Beize out." Captain Beize's eyes were _definitely _twinkling as she signed off, clearly amused at Maria's stunned expression.

**OOO**

"Can you feel it yet?" Schilling asked, as he and Fayt traded augmented blows. "My science boys and I are calling it 'refined destruction.'

His face suddenly blossomed into a smile. "Of course, I don't dare to suggest that I or my men could ever hope to match the brilliance of Dr. Leingod, but I do think we've managed to make a few improvements on the original. Wouldn't you—" Schilling slammed his power-enveloped fist into Fayt's right shoulder, sending sprawling. "—say?" he finished as he stood over Fayt.

Grunting, Fayt dragged himself up. _Whatever the hell they did, it certainly packs a hell of a wallop..._ For every blow the two exchanged, Fayt seemed to be getting the worst of it. Even so, it wasn't as if Fayt had much of a choice, and...

With a shout, Fayt struck out again, blade and fist both wrapped in unearthly light. Short red bolts fired from Schilling's hands met and were countered by Fayt's whistling weapon. After a moment more of a furious exchange of blows, Schilling again got lucky, landing an energy wrapped fist into Fayt's already wounded side, sending him stumbling back before dropping to a knee.

"Hunh," Schilling started, actually turning his back on Fayt and talking two short steps away. "How disappointing the great 'Leingod boy' turns out to be. Unsurprising, however. After all, you _did _turn your back on the Federation, to be with your _Quark _buddies... Is that any way for the son of the late, great Dr. Leingod to act, choosing backstabbing _murderers_ over the cause your father martyred himself for!?"

Fayt was getting the distinct feeling that Schilling was playing hard and fast with the facts, but said nothing, still struggling to regain his breath from wounded knee.

"You know they killed my father?" Schilling asked in an almost relaxed tone as he continued his pacing. He held his hands up as he continued his bizarre confession. "I don't even really understand how they did it... No trace of the ship, no wreckage, no _nothing. _But, _clearly_," he continued, a smile cracking his bloody face, "these are not the sort of people with which Destruction, Connection, or Alter—" Schilling froze.

After a moment, his head slowly craned around to Fayt, though Fayt got the distinct feeling Schilling was really looking _through _him.

"...God. I'm so _blind_! That's how they did it!?" New anger suddenly danced with the madness in Schilling's eyes. "Alteration..." he said slowly. "That's it, isn't it...? That little Quark _bitch_ was the one, wasn't she!?" Schilling was suddenly fuming. "When I'm done here, I'm going to personally track that _whore_ down and—"

Fayt grunted then rushed forward, his light wings suddenly billowing back behind him as he streaked forward and rammed Schilling in the midsection. "You're not getting anywhere _close _to Maria!" he snapped.

The two tumbled to the ground. Schilling had managed to deflect Fayt's blade from making a killing blow, but his blade _had _still stabbed into Schilling's abdomen. Groaning loudly, Schilling shoved Fayt off him—jerking out his weapon with another grunt of pain—before painfully clambering to his feet. He weakly started to march off, apparently intending to put as much distance between himself and Fayt as possible for time being.

Before going too far, however, Schilling's hands dropped to the new wound in his side. Schilling seemed to painfully crouch over, his head bowed, and his fingers delicately probing, as if trying to determine where the torn material of his uniform ended and his bloody gash began. He pulled them back slick with blood, and had a bad feeling.

Fayt, meanwhile, gasped for air, as he rolled to his side, and then to his knees, a hand shakily pressed to his temple. _Not going to be able... to keep this up much longer... _As Maria had discovered earlier, the free use of their powers took quite the toll on their bodies. Between his wounds and his blinding headache, Fayt was somewhat amazed that he was able to stand again.

Training his attention back on Schilling, he watched as the wounded General straightened and turned; and suddenly, Fayt somehow knew that the next few minutes would decide everything...

**OOO**

Nearly half a day had passed since the beginning of the battle, and Maria was starting to sag under the strain. Even with the reinforcements Beize had brought with her, the battle had degenerated to a brutal slugfest, with far more casualties on both sides than Maria would have preferred.

But the contours of the battle were shifting, and both sides knew that the decisive moment was fast approaching. To that end...

"Signal the _Mercury_ task group, and the _Valiant,_ and _Montenegro_," Maria suddenly directed, her fingers suddenly a blur on the keypad inlaid to her command chair. "Have them advance on Course 382, Mark..." a pause, as she rechecked her hasty calculations, "Mark 741." After a moment more of thought, "And have the _Le Grange _task group advance on Course 943, Mark 406."

"Captain, are you sure?" Steeg asked.

It was another gamble – dividing the fleet in such a manner risked everything. The defensive power of enfilading fire—of one ship cover another's weak points—was no small thing, and meant that space combat generally gravitated to massed ships taking potshots at one another. Closing with the enemy on a ship by ship basis had the potential to inflict the most damage against them... but also put allied ships at the most risk as well.

"Their right center is weak..." Maria stated quietly, almost as if to herself. "We can break them... I _know _it." Louder, "Relay the commands."

Slowly (as if almost hesitantly) the _Mercury _task group edged forward from its position, nearly exactly opposite the weakness in the enemy line Maria professed to see. After another moment, the task group, with the mighty _Valiant _and _Montenegro_ battleships guarding the flanks, picked up speed, and the entire group hurled forward in a vaguely arrowhead shape. As the _Mercury _battlegroup streamed forward, the bright explosions of energy weapons clashing against shields almost became too much for the eye to bear.

Suddenly... "Captain! The enemy line is reacting! Both modified corsairs are breaking from their engagements on our right flank, and are heading for the _Mercury_!"

Maria's eyes narrowed. "Damn... Both of them?" She had anticipated drawing at least one of the mysterious ships, but she had apparently underestimated Brooklund's bloodlust. _If they break the _Mercury_'s advance, there's no guarantee that _my _line won't break..._ Not only would losing the _Mercury_ and its attendant forces leave a massive gap in her line, but the demoralizing effect alone would...

But all wasn't lost yet... The _Le Grange_, streaking forward on its own course, suddenly opened fire as the two modified corsairs sped past. The closer of the two, identified as the enemy flag, immediately turned to engage the _Le Grange _task group.

"Finally, something of a break..." Maria muttered, keenly aware of the bitter irony that the _Le Grange _task force alone wouldn't be able to hold very long against even one of enemy's special ships (much less its flagship!). As if to underscore that point, one of the _Le Grange_'s combat explorers exploded in a bright burst of creation energy.

The other corsair slammed into the flank of the _Mercury_'s battlegroup, instantly engaging at close range with the _Montenegro_. The _Valiant _immediately split off to assist its sister battleship, while the speedier ships with the _Mercury _continued to launch at the enemy line.

"Ma'am, the _Mercury_'s taking a hell of a beating," Steeg advised.

"But it's done its job," she answered back quietly, as the _Mercury _hobbled forward, shattering through the defenses of an enemy battleship as it went. It was as good as a chance as Maria was liable to get. "All ships, _advance_!"

The battered Federation line surged forward as if they had all been waiting for just such an order, following the point of the spear that was the _Mercury_. Even as the _Mercury_'s engines failed and it streamed to a stop (battered and streaming drive plasma, this time for real), other Federation ships were rushing forward into the chink it had made.

Lieber suddenly let out a whoop. "Captain! Look on the secondary screen!"

There, the _Montenegro _and the _Valiant_, firing in concert, had just managed to rip through the shields of their modified corsair. In a brilliant eruption of creation energy, the second of the mysterious ships was destroyed.

And then, all at once, the tide of the battle had changed. The destruction of one of their supposedly unstoppable special ships, combined with the audacious drive forward against their line by the Feddies was apparently the last straw for the Rezerb forces: Several smaller corvettes began to bolt, soon followed by heavier class ships.

"That did it!" Lieber shouted, before whooping again in joy. "They're breaking! They're really breaking!" he yelled again, even as next to him Steeg suddenly let out a relieved sigh and sagging back in his chair.

"They're... backing off?" Marietta asked, just barely above a whisper, astonishment in her voice.

Relief welled up in Maria, temporarily taking the edge off her fatigue. It almost didn't seem real, watching the master tactical plot as every ship in the battered Rezerb lines were slowly but surely disengaging from her equally battered fleet... all but one. "The enemy flagship isn't retreating?" she asked, suddenly tense all over again.

Her three lieutenants exchanged confused looks. "Uh... No, it's—" Steeg started. The enemy flag hovered defiantly where it had been dueling with the _Le Grange_.

"The enemy flagship is opening fire on his own forces!" Lieber suddenly broke in.

"What!?" Maria shouted. She watched as the enemy flagship closed with its own line, only to fire on – and destroy – several of its retreating subordinates.

While it had no doubt been in an effort to keep any more Rezerb ships from fleeing, the sight of the flagship opening fire on its own fleet only caused them to flee faster. As the last ships pulled out of the Rezerb flagship's weapons envelop, it slowly craned back to face the Federation line alone. Several of the Federation ships began to hail the _Diplo_.

Maria had a feeling she knew what they wanted. "Tell the fleet to hold their fire," Maria commanded as she continued to watch the plot.

As Lieber bent to do so, Steeg stiffened. "Ma'am, we're being hailed by the enemy flagship."

Maria considered for a moment. Finally, she smoothed out her jacket. "Onscreen."

The _Diplo_'s main screen flashed to the interior of the enemy flagship's (wrecked) bridge. Several dead crewmembers were sprawled across their displays, from a variety of wounds. The only one still alive was the ship's captain, an older Rezerb in a battered looking uniform.

"You..." Brooklund declared flatly. He looked nothing less than a malicious ghost between the excess steam and emergency lights on his bridge.

"Me," Maria answered evenly.

"I suppose you think you've won," Brooklund continued threateningly. "You have, after all, broken the back of my fleet."

"Seems a reasonable conclusion," she answered quietly.

"Well, perhaps you _are _right, then," Brooklund said flatly, "But – and here's the thing you'll need to know about me – I never take defeat lying down!!" he finished in a shout before killing the comm. connection.

"Captain!" Marietta exclaimed hysterically, "the enemy flagship is on a collision course for us!"

The main screen flipped to an image of the incoming flagship. Seconds later, the remaining ships in Maria's fleet all began firing upon it, but, no longer concerned with its own survival, the ship continued hurtling forward, resembling nothing less than a grotesquely large fireball.

Despite the grinding headache, despite the fatigue and the paralyzing sickness of so many dead by her orders... "Brooklund!" Maria shouted, rising to her feet.

In a flash of blue, too bright for any mortal eye, the two ships...

**OOO**

The two battered men considered each other across the metal platform, with wind whistling in the background the only sound. They were both bleeding, both bruised, and as near as each could tell, they were both barely standing.

"I won't let you _stop me!_" Schilling suddenly screamed hysterically, wildly flinging bolts towards Fayt as he charged forward.

"That's just it, Schilling!" Fayt called, as he rolled away and drew his arms back. "Sometimes, there are things that are just more important..." Fayt paused, grunting, as held his arms forward, palms out, " _than yourself_!"

With one last shout of exertion, his bloodied face contorted into a scowl and his teeth gritted, the palms of Fayt's hands erupted in white energy, and a beam hungrily leapt forward for Schilling. Schilling stared at it dumbfounded for a moment (two last red bolts forgotten in his hands) before hastily trying to get into a defensive stance in the last minute before—

Everything exploded in white.

Fayt's ragged breathing sounded abnormally loud in his ears. After a moment more, his arms dropped to his sides, and he fell to one knee, his mind absently noting the ethereal white feathers that seemed to be falling all around him...

"That..." _pant, pant_, "that has to..." Grabbing his sword again, Fayt struggled to remain more or less on his feet as his vision slowly traveled towards where he had seen Schilling last.

Schilling had apparently some several yards away from where he had been, rolling side over side until he came to a stop near the edge of the platform. For the first few seconds as Fayt watched him, the crazed Marine general did not stir... But then suddenly—incredibly—he began to weakly push himself up.

Fayt tensed, his blade (though wavering ever so slightly at the tip) slowly raised again. _Can't... believe... he got up from that... _

Schilling, however, no longer seemed to notice Fayt. Wobbling a bit like he was drunk, Schilling slowly turned away, his feet clanging awkwardly on the platform. Schilling's head slowly unsteadily crane towards the sun, now settling in among the blasted mountains in the west.

"That..." he said weakly and deliriously, staggering forward a few steps. "...that's what I was..." His right arm reached out as if to touch the sunset, before he collapsed to his knees. "... _fighting_... for..." He fell lifelessly to the ground, his arm still stretched ahead. Brigadier General Schilling did not rise again.

Fayt sank to his knees, his blade clanging heavily to the metal deck beside him.

The sunset was beautiful.


	11. Epilogue: So Far Away Now

For a moment, Ophelia's attention wandered. It felt, all things considered, oddly strange to be back in her (temporary, she again chided) office on Roak. The room barely looked any different and hardly reflected any signs that everything that had happened... _had _happened. Of course, it only took a look down at her right arm—still in a sling—or the fact that she _still _couldn't see from her third eye that, _yes_, there had been a coup attempt and _yes_, she had nearly died.

Ophelia forced her self to focus again (it was her first day back, after all, and there was so _much _to be done), turning her attention back to Lieutenant Commander – now Captain – Maddox. Maddox nodded and folded her hands in her lap, nearing the end of her report. "And with the refurbishing of several of the surviving battleships like the _Mercury_ from the Naacap IV battleline, Federation space forces are back up to approximately 75 strength compared to before Schilling's coup attempt."

Ophelia, still heavily bandaged and with a blanket loosely wrapped around her shoulders, considered the numbers from her personal tablet. "Well, that's not bad, all things considered." One of her eyebrows arched. "They managed to recover the _Mercury_?" Ophelia asked, honestly surprised.

"Yes, Madam President," Captain Maddox answered. "The CoE crew in charge had to strip her drive manifolds and replace several of her burned out shield generators, but, ah..." Maddox grinned. "Well, ma'am, the _Mercury_'s an old _Aquaelie_-class, and according to the engineering crew, 'they don't make 'em like that anymore.'"

Ophelia nodded. Her father had been an engineer in the fleet, and judging from the high esteem he had reserved for the class she didn't doubt it. "And how's the political situation shaping up?"

"Division of resources talks with the Neutral Powers are proceeding smoothly," Maddox started. "Planetary garrisons have already been formally turned over, and military personnel from seceding planetary governments are already returning to their homes."

Captain Maddox started to frown. "But there's a major debate going on in the Neutral Powers leadership," she continued. "A substantial minority of the neutral-coalition leadership are advocating autonomous, independent planetary governments, while another large portion is advocating an actual Neutral Power federalized state..."

Ophelia nodded, almost as if she had expected no less. "They joined together with only breaking away from the Federation itself in mind—I don't think even they realized that they might not agree upon the next step..." She closed her eyes. "It will be a while before we see things settle among the neutral-coalition... And who knows what the galaxy will look like by then..."

Earth history alone was rife with examples of the hugely complicated process of states simply _dissolving_. And they usually came attendant with major risks... Violence among the former neutral-coalition members as they sorted out a new pecking order would not be without precedent. "We'll have to tread lightly from here," Ophelia said quietly, mostly to herself.

"Meanwhile," Captain Maddox resumed, her nose crinkling. "The interim Rezerbian government has extended its apologies over the actions of dear, departed Sergeant Brooklund," she started, not quite able to hide her distain. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with the several battleships we've poised in orbit over their homeworld..."

"Well," Ophelia started, "I'd think that serves them right. Quite frankly, I don't want them to even _think _about building any of those special-class ships, ever again." Her expression soured as her temper built. "Hell, I don't want them to have anything _close _to an effective space force for the next 25 years!" she declared heatedly.

"Being a little harsh, aren't we?" Cliff asked from his reclining position in the other chair opposite the President's desk. He had been altogether too quiet during the meeting so far (Ophelia had nearly forgotten he was even there). Now, his seemingly lazy and relaxed expression barely concealed the calculation in his half-lidded eyes.

Ophelia took a deep breath, as if calming herself. "Perhaps," she started, conceding that she had let her emotions get the better of herself for the moment. "But at any rate," she resumed in a more even tone, "for the time being it's in the interest of the interstellar community to maintain tight sanctions on Rezerbia, until such time as they can demonstrate having overcome such... _tendencies _as motivated Sergeant Brooklund."

"Now on that point," Cliff started, suddenly animated again, "I don't think you'll find much of an argument."

Ophelia apparently having passed his 'test,' Cliff moved on. "Oh, and I wanted to show you..." he started, lifting up for inspection a manila folder he had been holding the entire time. "A little digging found this," Cliff said, tossing a manila folder down on the desk. "Apparently the Schilling family has something of a history of mental illness. The old man, as it turns out, was more or less clean – if a little too sold on his own righteousness.

"The kid though," and here Cliff shook his head. "They knew from early on that he had the potential for major problems. Most of that, however, was covered with a few well-placed bribes."

Cliff folded his arms. "As near as anyone can tell, the old man's death started bringing more of that out in the kid. And the Executioner attack, the death of Earth – his beloved home planet – and subsequent... _reduction_ of the Federation just finished the job." Cliff whistled. "Still, though... Hard to believe he managed to hide that neat of a psychological break as half as well as he ending up managing..."

"Iron self-control and sheer single-mindedness on his goal," Ophelia answered quietly.

"I guess we're just lucky that he was stopped when he was," Cliff said, his expression hard to read.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Ophelia declared flatly. She folded her arms. She didn't remember much after _Federation One _had met its unfortunate end (_so many good people lost, fred, oh, fred, I'm sorry I got you into such—_): there were blurry visions of a blue-haired woman and the harsh lights of a medical bay, but nothing solid until she had woken up in Bowman General Hospital in Lacour. But the surviving anti-Schilling generals on Moonbase and the whole of the Naacap IV battleline had told her plenty...

"That's the second time the Federation owes its very survival to those two," Ophelia said quietly. She adopted a rueful smile. "I do wish they would have stuck around this time at least to let me thank them personally."

"You know those two," Cliff started jauntily, "never did want any sort of attention for what they do." He shook his head. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll pass your message along the next time I talk to them."

"I'd..." and her she hesitated a moment, her mind racing over the fact that the Klausian sitting in front of her knew exactly where those fated two were, or at the very least how to get in touch with them, either of them alone having the sheer _power_ to radically alter the face of the _galaxy_, and if only the Federation could be assured their assistance, then _nothing _could harm it ever again and—

She coughed lightly. "I would appreciate that, Mr. Fittir," she finished, banishing such thoughts from her mind. Those two had already been asked to bear such a burden... And further, in her heart Ophelia knew that for the Federation to still _mean _something—for it to stand by those words it had been founded by—she knew that it would have to work its problems out the old-fashioned way.

"Well, at any rate..." Ophelia rose to her feet. "Captain Maddox, thank you for your report."

"Of course, Madam President." With a crisp salute, Captain Maddox marched out of the office.

Ophelia settled back down in her seat, turning her attention back to Cliff. "Mr. Fittir, I don't suppose you have any plans for dinner tonight, do you?"

"Well, actually" Cliff started as he languidly rose to his feet, his tone oddly regretful, "I'm afraid _I _have to get going as well."

"Oh?" Ophelia's eyebrow arched again. "And just where are you off to?" Ophelia asked, unable to keep a playful tone out of her voice.

"Me?" Cliff asked. He dropped into a fighting stance, punching the air several times. "I've got some training that I need to get to." He straightened up. "Not to mention a ship to shepherd home." As Cliff walked out of the president's office, he grinned back over his shoulder at her. "If you're ever in the Klaus System, make sure to look me up."

Ophelia nodded, slowly blossoming into a smile. Cliff tossed a final wave goodbye over his shoulder as the doors closed behind him.

**OOO**

"And you are..." the Federation junior officer looked down at the passenger manifest on his personal tablet. "Marianna Silvestoli...?" He glanced back up at the blue haired woman. Black coat, brown vest. Blue tie? She'd clearly seen better days. Her left arm was in a sling, and there was a large bandage around her throat.

At any rate, she nodded. "That's me," she said cheerily.

The officer looked back down at the manifest on his tablet. "It says here you are traveling with a..." He keyed the tablet, trying to change pages.

"Ernest Madison," Marianna supplied.

"Right," the officer said, nodding. He frowned. "And where is Mr. Madison...?"

As if he had been waiting for that cue, a blue haired youth in a green jacket and khaki slacks came tumbling round the corner. By the time he had reached the boarding gate, he was out of breath. "Hey..." pant, pant, "sorry I'm late."

The officer noted (perhaps not that surprised) that Mr. Madison had _also_ seen better days: several small bandages adorned his face, he had what looked to be a healing black eye, and his right hand had been carefully dressed in white gauze.

Ms. Silvestoli was apparently not amused. "I told you it wasn't wise to dawdle like that."

Mr. Madison straightened up. "Maybe. But I still think it was worth it!" he protested.

Ms. Silvestoli looked like she was going to fire something back, but the officer could see a line forming behind them. He politely 'ahemed.' "I'll just need to see your IDs, and we can get you on board."

Ms. Silvestoli was still giving Mr. Madison the stink eye, but they, almost in unison, pulled out IDs and handed them over. After a quick verification through his terminal, the officer's small read-out displayed a green screen.

"Ms. Silvestoli, Mr. Madison, welcome aboard the GFSS _Hurricane_."

"Please," Mr. Madison said over his shoulder as he followed Ms. Silvestoli up the ramp and into the _Hurricane_, "Call me Barney."

The officer watched the two of them follow the narrow walkway. About midway up, Ms. Silvestoli hit Mr. Madison in the arm. He seemed to protest this quite vocally. Just before the two slipped into the _Hurricane_'s hatch, they entwined arms.

"Kids," the officer said to himself, grinning and shaking his head in amusement.


End file.
